Lahaina Noon
by HaideesChild
Summary: Book 3 of my trilogy re-imagining the Twilight saga from Edward's point of view (mid-New Moon onward). Edward discovers what true happiness is.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This is the sequel to "Solar Flare" (s/12085878/1/Solar-Flare) and "Solstice Dance" (s/12123143/1/Solstice-Dance), so it will make a lot more sense if you read those two first_ :)

 _(Wherever I've used quotes directly from the Twilight saga, I've underlined Stephenie's words to distinguish them.)_

 _. . . . ._

 **Prologue**

 _7 September 2006_

Before Bella, I thought of myself as dead (and it didn't bother me). After Bella, in those first fateful months, my opinion had vacillated wildly between—in my lowest moments—branding myself a demon who'd corrupted an angel, and—at my most self-aggrandising—fancying myself her own personal superhero. (Because what superhero _doesn't_ have a fatal flaw?)

My skewed self-perception had balanced out since then, giving me a new insight into the precious life we have, but Renesmee has given me an entirely new perspective. She gives the death of Bella's human life a higher purpose that makes watching Bella's transformation thrilling, and I can't help feeling as though I'm allowed to enjoy it.

Bella's heart sounds out every beat with a strength that assures us the transformation will progress more swiftly than normal, and her face is so relaxed that we can all imagine her mind drifting calmly through the seconds until her new body is ready.

Carlisle and Rosalie watched Esme and Emmett just as dutifully, but neither had known their mates as well as I know Bella. It is surreal to watch the growing definition of her muscles beneath her pearlescent skin and the sharpening of her features that emphasises her perfect bone structure, accentuating the shape of her face and focusing even more attention on her already-dominating eyes. While her naturally long, dark eyelashes merely thicken, her eyebrows also refine their shape to complement and frame her face. Her hair keeps its rich, glossy brown but gains a metallic sheen. Her lips take on a darker hue of pink, an exquisite shade that's not quite natural—reflecting the loss of oxygenated blood—and draws the eye even more readily to her already shapely lips.

And then subtle differences start to appear between her new form and the one from Alice's vision all those months ago. Bella's translucent skin retains more of its warm, ivory hue; her hair lengthens more than usual, and copper highlights start to shine through, making us even more of a complementary pair; and, perhaps most surprisingly, her muscles gain more definition.

To distract myself from the thrilling implications of Bella being all but indestructible, I amuse myself by imagining that she will be permanently stronger than I am.

 _. . . . ._

 _. . . . ._

 **One: Teacher**

While we wait for our family to be reunited—in two stages, because Alice and Jasper will return to us much faster than Bella can complete her transformation—I feel us already relaxing into our new, incredible reality. The moment we each met Renesmee, our individual and collective worlds reoriented so that she occupied the very centre of them all. It might have been jarring were we not already strongly bound to each other, but it feels so natural that it is as though our lives already revolved around the spot she has now claimed.

It is most apparent when she falls asleep for the first time (in _my_ arms, though there are four others eager to perform the service). Emmett is alone in celebrating the opportunity to focus on other things; the rest of us are utterly content to stay as we are and watch our baby sleep—even before she starts to dream. The jumbles of half-formed thoughts and images are disorienting for the others, but the images of our faces interspersed with words, snippets of sentences, and colourful shapes on an emotional backdrop of pure happiness make for an engrossing scene, even if the often zany combinations and abrupt transitions make them feel a little dizzy at times.

Although Emmett enjoys her thoughts as much as the rest of us, his own are comparatively more forceful. He wrings out every mill of his patience, managing to wait three whole minutes before casually proposing to Rosalie that they "hunt" while Renesmee sleeps. Rosalie is torn; she is also eager to satisfy _both_ of their physical 'needs', but Rey's abstract dreams are scarcely less captivating than her conscious thoughts. To resolve her conflicting desires, Emmett mouths kisses down her neck in the hope of convincing her. His efforts work almost instantly, but it still takes Rosalie a minute to surrender her connection to Rey's heart-warming mind.

The moment she lifts her hand, Emmett snatches it up and sweeps her into his arms even as he races outside, leaving Esme, Carlisle, and I to enjoy the unique landscapes of Renesmee's imagination in peace.

Esme and Carlisle move to stand on either side of me, each holding one of Renesmee's tiny little hands while resting a hand on my back. Her gift enables them to see everything I see, so they are fortunate that her mind is less complex than their own, as they have yet to learn how to find logic in the chaotic strands of thought. Still, the additional effort doesn't remotely detract from their enjoyment of their granddaughter's beautiful mind.

"If all thoughts were like hers," Esme murmurs, "I would envy your gift, Wadie."

"If they _were_ ," I reply, "I'd understand your envy."

My parents chuckle softly, amused by the many layers of the joke (but especially the one that makes me something of a hypocrite).

"You'd still rather hear at distance than not," Esme teases, correctly thinking that, after all we've been through, there's really only one thing I would change if I could (my inability to hear Bella's thoughts).

"Yes," I agree wholeheartedly, "and I'd rather hear every thought than be any more limited."

Carlisle nods. "We're all glad you can hear the wolves' thoughts."

"Even _they_ are."

They both chuckle, equally appreciative of that most incredible fact, which reflects our strong bond with them—although thinking of the wolves sends their thoughts down the track they've been trying to avoid (Jacob's imprinting).

"I'm dealing with it," I say, because I can't say I'm fine with it without compromising the truth. When Esme immediately asks _how_ , I roll out a flippant non-answer embellished with a purposefully artless smile. "I'm waiting for Bella."

The smile and my easy-going tone work. Even Esme, who would usually worry that I'm masking my true feelings, thinks I must be as unperturbed as I appear. After all, she concludes, in the scheme of things, Jacob imprinting on Renesmee isn't nearly as distressing as the fears I successfully faced during Bella's pregnancy.

I am far less amenable to the accompanying thought—that Bella will not be unhappy about it. To hide my growing tension, I shrug lightly. "Let's not think about it right now."

While Carlisle accepts the not-so-subtle request for a subject change, Esme opposes it (why, oh why hadn't I found some half-truth to keep her motherly concerns at bay?). "Are you hoping Bella will be angry with him?" she asks gently.

A non-answer isn't going to work this time, so I share a little of my somewhat conflicted feelings. "Honestly, I don't know. Of course I don't want her to be angry, but there's a part of me that's still a little bitter that he always gets his way."

"If he _is_ Renesmee's—"

"Please don't say it," I interrupt, before the word _intended_ can link my daughter to my former, hated rival.

Esme ruffles my hair with her free hand; although she sympathises, she thinks I'm being melodramatic. "Just remember, you can hear his thoughts, and _he_ knows you can hear his thoughts."

That makes me smile—Esme's point is indeed comforting—but I still want to change the subject. "Now we've come full circle," I say quickly. "My gift is truly a blessing."

Esme shakes her head in mock exasperation. "You're too clever for your own good sometimes," she teases.

"He's allowed to be," Carlisle jokes, as he smoothly changes the subject to the spiritual epiphany that Bella, Renesmee, and I have afforded him, deeming Rey's existence "incontrovertible" proof that I still have my soul, because soulless creatures cannot create life, only warp it. Extrapolating from that, he concludes that _vampires are not inherently damned_.

Esme already believed that we haven't lost our souls, so she is thrilled that Carlisle has found evidence for his more stringent spiritual beliefs while Bella is undergoing her transformation, sparing him the pain of imagining her innocent soul being consumed or condemned, and I similarly agree (for the most part) with the underlying sentiment—even though I don't agree that my fertility depends on my still having a soul.

When we both simply nod in response, Carlisle is extremely amused; he knows his audience, so he jokily expresses gratitude for our indulgence. To which I tease him for viewing our agreement as _indulgence_ when our "real" motivation is trying to avoid a sermon.

Any other day, he might have conjured up an annoyingly wise moralistic tale to remind us of the value of a good sermon, but Renesmee's exceptional mind makes any words of wisdom seem superfluous. "There is nothing left to say," he murmurs. "Life is glorious."

Esme shifts her hand from my back to rest on his arm and he likewise curls his hand around her arm, and it is both fulfilling and humbling to feel their love for each other, for me, and for Renesmee, the grandchild they had only ever dreamed of in their wildest flights of fancy.

Barely ten minutes pass, however, before Renesmee's remarkable growth rate becomes the focus of our attention: her little body is changing before our very eyes. Watching her face steadily lose some of its roundness excites all three of us, though, for Carlisle, it also rouses fresh feelings of anxiety. His once-unflappable nerves take another hit as he pictures her an old woman in less than a year. Alongside my sympathy and no small amount of amazement that I share none of his worries, I am intrigued by the strange sort of equilibrium his excitement and anxiety arrive at inside him, with neither one able to suppress the other.

"Carlisle," I murmur to rouse him from his internal conflict, "I don't think she's dying." When that wording tips the balance ever so slightly towards the feelings of hopelessness, I remind him of Seth's far more impressive growth spurt—four or five _years_ of growing in a matter of seconds—followed by theoretically everlasting stasis.

Carlisle appreciates my ongoing confidence, but the point reminds both him and Esme of Jacob's imprinting as they consider how Renesmee is like the wolves in other ways.

"Her senses will soon be on par," I say in an effort to refocus their attention, "but her mind is already becoming more like ours than theirs."

The comment piques their curiosity; neither has noticed the more rapid expansion of Rey's mind that has been occurring alongside the physical changes, so I point out the way her dream, at times, skips across multiple thoughts at once. It won't be long before she can maintain entirely separate lines of thought whenever she likes.

"So she _will_ be more like us," Esme concludes, hoping to help Carlisle build his confidence. "She grew from nothing into a perfect baby in a matter of days, and she is flourishing—the mix of human and vampire isn't a problem, it's an advantage. She improves upon both."

Carlisle smiles, buoyed by the truth in her words. "She _is_ perfect," he agrees.

Esme nods, though she can't help feeling a little sad that Renesmee won't be a baby for long. "The cottage doesn't need a nursery after all," she remarks, trying to make a joke out of it. "I do hope she doesn't sleep through most of her baby years."

Carlisle wants to give her some sort of answer, but his medical knowledge seems as utterly useless in this situation as it had in predicting the course of Bella's pregnancy. So I answer in his stead, daring to make a bold prediction.

I shake my head. "Based on the wolves' requirements for sleep—not how much they'd _like_ to sleep—I expect she'll sleep less than a human child."

He chuckles, freshly impressed and delighted by my seemingly irrepressible optimism. "You've been a father a matter of hours and you're already better at it than I," he quips.

"If that's true, it's only because I have such a preeminent role model."

He quirks an eyebrow, as amused by the unexpectedly trifling protest as he is by the "inflated" compliment.

"It is my opinion of _myself_ that has changed," I explain, "not my admiration of you."

His eyes light up as he sees the truth of it in my eyes, and the emotion wells up inside him, filling him with joy and pride. "My every hope is coming true," he murmurs.

Esme shifts from my side to Carlisle's (without losing contact with Renesmee), curling an arm around his and kissing his cheek to toast this hard-won revelation. He returns the gesture, but she can see that he's surprised by her apparent _lack_ of surprise.

"We saw this day coming, Lee," she reminds him, looking as smug as she ever has; "we knew that Bella was special."

"You didn't care _what_ she was," I joke, remembering telling Bella that Esme wouldn't have cared if she'd had a third eye and webbed feet.

But Esme's thoughts now make me realise I'd missed the point, and the matter is too serious for her to let the comment go undisputed. "If she weren't a good match for you temperamentally, Lee and I would've had a much harder time trusting her with your heart."

That idea makes me laugh, because neither of them had had any trouble trusting Bella—but then I'm distracted by the way the sound penetrates my daughter's subconscious, bringing my face to the forefront of her vivid dream landscape. "I wish I could have watched Bella's dreams."

Esme imagines nudging my shoulder teasingly were she closer. "Do you not think her dreams would have tested your self-control?"

Ignoring the overt teasing, I simply say I don't know—but it's a specious answer; thanks to Tanya, I know exactly what it's like to be the object of particular desire. "I _am_ glad we can't sleep; I couldn't have risked sleeping near her."

"You would have," Esme counters earnestly, knowing I would've struggled to leave Bella unguarded and presuming I would've coped with it as well as I have coped with everything else. "You would've found a way."

Carlisle seconds her judgement and then takes it a step further, imagining that I would have found a way to forgo sleep altogether, or effected some equally impossible feat.

"The _real_ marvel," Esme says exaggeratedly, "is that Rosalie is finally grateful for the life you gave her—even though you acted for Edward's sake."

He snorts at that and the sudden amusement acts like a release valve, discharging the residual pressure that had pent up inside him since Alice lost sight of Bella and he discovered that it was his "fault". All our mistakes, large and small, all our choices, have brought us here—and, most miraculously of all, have given life to the precious child in my arms.

 _Maybe fate_ is _a real force_ , he muses, before deciding that that is too big a question to ponder right now.

"There's no need to speculate on the existence of fate," I murmur. "Bella will prove it when she wakes."

His eyes gravitate to the motionless girl on the bed. "Because she was meant to be a vampire?"

"Yes."

He nods, because there can be no other truth. "I am proud to be her father," he says, claiming the full honour of that title through his kinship with me.

"And she is proud to be your daughter," I reply.

He smiles, and then presses a tender kiss to my temple. "I owe my every happiness to you."

"And I to you."

He chuckles, deeply gratified by the reciprocal nature of our relationship, and then he closes his eyes, rests his head against Esme's, and lets his thoughts drift through Rey's beautiful mind. Of course, he reopens them in less than a minute, but as he processes the new changes, he is better able to manage his concerns.

After deciding that a visual estimate of her growth is insufficient, he gives Esme a reassuring smile, then darts downstairs to retrieve the measuring tape he used to measure Renesmee at birth. On his return, I gently shift her in my arms to help him take the measurements. He resists the urge to expose her tiny feet in order to measure them, too, but the other differences are amply awe-inspiring. At birth, she had resembled a five- or six-month-old baby; now, only a few hours later, she appears almost a month older!

Although we had anticipated the possibility of her rapid growth continuing after birth, I'd never considered such an extreme rate. It saddens me that Bella is missing so much, and I feel guilty for experiencing Rey's first days of life when Bella cannot. But then I remind myself of my success: every minute that my efforts speed up her transformation is that much more precious. And as long as Bella can see Renesmee's thoughts ( _please let her luck hold out_ ), she won't be missing out completely.

Unexpectedly, Renesmee wakes after only 47 minutes of sleep. As before, we greet her at human speed to help her learn what that is, and her movements, which are initially much too rapid, quickly relax into a more human pace. Carlisle and Esme think that our efforts are already paying off, but I'm inclined to think that, like the wolves, Renesmee has a natural human 'mode'.

She is confused at first, trying to make sense of her dream-thoughts—like human dreams, most are faint—and the sudden disappearance of Rosalie and Emmett, but my explanation of the unconscious state she just experienced, aided by her further increased reasoning capacity, quickly reassures her. When I mention that _we_ cannot sleep, she is surprisingly irritated; although her dreams were pleasant, she would much rather be conscious (just like her mother!). To help her focus on the present, Carlisle proposes breakfast and then brings her a little bottle of O-negative blood.

The moment she realises what's in the bottle, she remembers the warm blood she feasted on earlier—and asks for a live donor. I can't help wincing internally at her grand expectations, but at least it is easy to coax her attention back to the chilled blood. Fortunately, the temperature difference is more of a novelty than a problem, because she thinks this blood tastes boring in comparison.

After shredding the plastic teat with her teeth in a matter of seconds, she spills some blood across her cheek before I can right the bottle. Esme steps back, not daring to trust herself (because the thought of scaring Rey is too awful), so I indulge myself and remove the offending blood as quickly as possible by licking it off. Renesmee giggles and then generously tries to offer me a greater share of her breakfast. While I thank her, Carlisle guides Esme downstairs to look for a metal straw for our little biter.

Renesmee is initially suspicious of the straw, but she quickly gets the hang of it (after putting a few dents in it). She drinks slowly, her thoughts a mixture of general questions and questions about this blood in comparison with the blood she'd taken directly from the source. Having sampled this blood myself, I can directly compare her sense of taste with mine, and it's much more similar than I'd expected. To my taste buds, the chilled blood is perhaps akin to freeze-dried food: it bears some resemblance to its original flavour, but everything else—the aroma, texture, and resultant physiological reaction—is totally wrong. For Esme's sake (because the blood still enflames her thirst), I keep my answers brief and emphasise its deficiencies, but I promise to discuss it in more depth with Carlisle (and Renesmee) another time.

As Renesmee drinks, the rest of us agree we are no longer surprised that the "demon children" of the Ticuna legends are unknown to our kind. Carlisle and Esme are much more inclined to believe that the actions of immortal children have indeed been unfairly attributed to hybrids—because Renesmee would have no trouble understanding the consequences of any rash action—but I still think there is truth to the stories. After all, she is a blood-drinker much like us, and she distinctly prefers fresh blood. It is easy to imagine a naïve newborn indulging its thirst on the local populace, and any stories of their attacks were bound to be reinforced and exaggerated at each retelling: murderous children are scary. A bloodthirsty toddler taking down an adult must be one of the most unnatural feats anyone could conceive of.

When the bottle is empty, Rey keeps sucking for another moment before understanding that it's all gone. She lets go and watches intently as Carlisle takes it out of my hand. I make a point of thanking him and he compliments me telepathically on my parenting skills while giving the standard polite reply.

Renesmee declines the offer of more, so Esme, eager for the distraction, suggests telling her a story. She proffers a couple of options where sleep or dreams play an important role, and Rey chooses one about a girl with the power to create real objects from her imagination.

Carlisle and I enjoy listening to Rey's thoughts about the story, but Esme finds the immediate feedback very distracting. She hadn't considered the added complication it creates, and as she lifts her hand from Rey's to sever the connection, she apologises for ever criticising my aversion to socialising.

 _I wouldn't like your gift after all, Wadie_ , she jokes wryly.

I want to insist that she was right to push me—without her challenging me, I have no doubt the acute temptation of Bella's blood would have overwhelmed my willpower in that first, fateful breath—but I'll have to wait till Renesmee is next asleep. In the meantime, I assist with the story-telling, interceding to explain anything that Renesmee doesn't understand or has questions about.

We're halfway through a discussion about the potential magical functions of a unicorn's horn when I feel Emmett's mind and then Rosalie's. Emmett is carrying her, his head still buried in her bosom as he runs as slowly as she'll allow. Listening to his memory of the two of them "jumping each other's bones" after draining the blood from a lone stag, I can't help imagining Bella and me in that scenario. It will be many years before Bella will be able to share a kill, but I don't have long to wait before I'll be making love to my newly all-but-indestructible wife…

Carlisle notices my distraction and guesses that Rosalie and Emmett are on their way home. Thankfully, the amorous nature of my underlying thoughts isn't immediately discernible, and I manage to focus more completely on my daughter when Carlisle proposes measuring her again. She is growing so quickly that he thinks it'll be useful to take measurements four times a day; as it's almost noon, that seems like an appropriate time to start.

Anticipating Renesmee's curiosity, Carlisle shows her the tape and explains the meaning of the marks. He uses his finger to show her the span of her hand at birth, then encourages her to place her hand over the tape to see how much longer it is now. She is delighted by the substantial increase, as eager to be 'big' as any small child, while I'm excited by her much-improved coordination. After Carlisle talks her through all the measurements he wants to take, she decides she'd like to stand on the desk to help him measure more accurately. She stands steadily from the start, her instinctive sense of balance more than capable of making the necessary calculations while I'm still setting her on her feet. She keeps a firm hold on two of my fingers, though, not ready to go it completely alone.

She takes great delight in tightening the tape around her own wrist, and she even reads the measurement and then touches Carlisle's arm to share the number with him. She is more than a little distracted by the sound of Emmett barrelling upstairs, but Esme, Rosalie, and I manage to capture her imagination while she patiently stands still.

Rosalie is bursting with praise at seeing Renesmee standing up. Emmett, on the other hand, immediately wants to encourage her to walk—but I manage to catch his attention before he speaks. When I tip my head in Bella's direction, he gets the message and promises to wait (as a "favour" to his new sister).

After Carlisle has taken what Emmett views as _every measurement possible_ (unlike Rosalie, Emmett isn't remotely shocked by Renesmee's visibly matured body), Emmett scoops her up into his arms and tosses her into the air. Renesmee loves it; she giggles madly, making us all laugh with her, and encourages him to throw her even higher.

 _She's nothing like her uptight parents_ , he teases me. "You'll hit the ceiling," he warns her, and then obeys her request to lift her up over his head.

Her co-ordination as she reaches up to brush her fingertips across the ceiling is the clearest evidence of all of just how rapidly she is developing. When she looks down, she giggles again, enjoying the new vantage point. But when she reaches out for me, Emmett isn't ready to let her go, so he distracts her with a new game: Scrabble. She is already fascinated with words and the way that changing a single letter creates an entirely new word, so she is immediately enraptured by the game's concept.

Emmett takes her with him to retrieve the game from his room, then sits her in the crook of his arm while he lays out the board on my desk. He proposes that he and Rey make up one team and the others—excluding me because I "cheat"—play individually, using a single board and the standard rules (as opposed to our usual "super Scrabble").

At first, they stick to words Renesmee already knows, so the numbers and calculations are more exciting for our little sponge, as are the patterns the words create across the board. Then Esme plays a word that Rey doesn't know— _axle_ —and the game comes to a halt; Rey won't let us help her calculate the score until she understands what it means.

Fortunately, the word is relatively simple to explain, but Emmett gives everyone a meaningful stare, so they stick to familiar words—regularly sacrificing much higher scoring options—until there are no alternatives. Carlisle makes the leap first, and I love trying to explain what a _quark_ is to a newborn who hasn't yet begun wondering about the physics of the universe.

Emmett and Rosalie are quickly bored, however, and a little irritated that Rey is so utterly enraptured by my stories of atoms, hydrogen-fuelled stars, dark matter, gravity, friction, and the laws of physics; although they understand these concepts, they aren't filled with wonder at their contemplation. Rosalie tries to suggest taking a break—perhaps to make a wardrobe change or have a drink—but Renesmee isn't interested in clothes or blood right now (unless it is _fresh_ blood). After half an hour of incremental progress, Emmett gives in and starts playing the craziest words he can come up with; then, while Carlisle, Esme, and I explain them, he and Rosalie converse discretely using their personal form of sign language, making plans for future "fun" games and activities.

After the first game takes well over an hour (Carlisle wins, thanks to twice gaining 50 bonus points for using all of his tiles in a single turn), Emmett passes Renesmee into my arms and excuses himself from the second game, leaving us "nerds" to discuss the inner workings of the universe while he turns on my computer to look for some live sports.

Rey wants to play on her own this time, and she and I quickly settle into a strategy whereby she watches me play—how I decide which word to play based on my current complement of tiles, the potential ability to use all of them at once in future, and the potential placement on the board for maximum points—and then, at her turn, she tells me how to order the tiles, trying combinations that make words she knows as well as those she doesn't. After she selects a word, I help her figure out where it might fit on the board and the points she could get, and then she decides whether to go with that option or try another. If she chooses a word she doesn't know, I wait until the others can see it before explaining its meaning.

The process is laborious, but the others love watching Rey and I work together, so the long delays don't bother anyone, least of all Rosalie. In fact, my characteristically impatient sister thinks we're utterly adorable—a word she has only ever ascribed to Vera's baby and to Emmett. It is still novel to be in such proximity without her directing any derisive thoughts at me; her mind feels almost brand new as she delights in having _everything_ she ever wanted—breathtaking beauty, a gorgeous, utterly devoted husband, and the most perfect baby imaginable—and it is as glorious as she'd dreamed it would be. Like Esme, she is sad that Renesmee clearly won't be a baby for long, but she wouldn't want Rey to be anything other than what she is (apart from being a little less of a nerd!).

Emmett keeps one eye on us, but even that and the half-dozen sports channels aren't engaging enough to make up for not being able to do what he really wants to do right now. After watching half of a football game, a quarter or so of two basketball games, and one or two innings of three different baseball matches, he switches off the computer and goes outside to look for a pretty flower for Rey.

He returns before we've finished our game, but his present—a pretty white orchid—distracts Renesmee completely. She loves the sparkles in the petals, and we're excited that she can see most of the UV-light effects that we can (and more than the wolves can). Emmett takes charge of explaining the purpose of flowers and how the leaves convert light into energy so the plant can grow, then shows her the roots, before putting it into the "pot" he collected from downstairs (one of Esme's crystal vases).

Rey is intrigued by the soil, too. She digs her fingers into it, then picks up a piece; when she goes to put it in her mouth, I automatically stop her. Her eyes widen as she hurriedly drops it.

Esme laughs as she picks up another little clod and offers it to Renesmee. "I don't think it'll taste very nice, but you can try some if you like."

"Silly Daddy just needs something to worry about," Rosalie teases.

I roll my eyes, which makes Renesmee giggle. Forgetting the dirt for now, she thrusts her little hand towards my face, as high as she can reach, so I lean down and press a light kiss to her dirt-encrusted fingertips.

She giggles again and presses her fingers more firmly against my lips. She hasn't forgotten that she doesn't need to touch _me_ to share her thoughts, but she enjoys the contact. Right now, she is picturing my face with such intense love that my heart feels like it's exploding out of my chest.

"I love you, too— _so_ much. And Mummy loves you, too."

She immediately looks at her mother laid out on the bed, as always picturing Bella's face the last time she saw her awake, wearied but smiling—but now she has a better sense of time and her impatience is starting to build. "Mummy's going to open her eyes again soon, my lovely, and then you can say hello to her properly."

"But not straight away," Rosalie quickly clarifies.

The reminder makes Renesmee and me both frown. "When Mummy first wakes up," I explain, a little unwillingly, "she'll be very thirsty, but you can see her after she's taken care of her thirst."

While Renesmee pictures waiting here with me for her mother to wake up, Rosalie worries that we're giving her a false sense of just how long she might have to wait.

 _We can't expose her to a newborn_ , she insists, and I have to admit that she has a point. Bella will be a newborn vampire with an unfamiliar, raging thirst. If she ignores Renesmee or growls at her, they'll both be upset.

"Mummy will need some time to feel like herself again," I say, trying to explain, "so you'll have to be patient for a little while after she wakes up."

Rosalie nods to reinforce my proposal, then strokes the back of Renesmee's hand. "We can wait together while Mummy and Daddy go hunting."

Renesmee isn't appeased by the compromise, but she can't immediately think of a counterargument, so she makes do with looking at Bella. She studies her face, for the first time recognising the changes in it, and then compares it to my face and her own, then to the other four vampires and the three humans she knows. She is curious about the similarities and differences between us as individuals and across the two groups, particularly in the eyes, since ours are all shades of gold and the humans' all shades of brown.

To pre-empt the shock of Bella's eyes changing colour, I ask Carlisle to retrieve Esme's antique hand mirror from the desk and then direct Rey's attention to her eyes in the mirror. " _Your_ eyes are brown," I say gently, "and Mummy's are, too, but they won't be when she wakes up again. Her body has to heal."

After a brief explanation, she understands the concept of _healing_ , leaving us to marvel at her quickness as she immediately remembers me pulling her out of Bella's gaping stomach. She remembers the mouth-wateringly delicious scent of Bella's blood and sinking her little teeth into Bella's flesh—and then she abruptly worries that _she_ caused this hurt to her mother.

"It wasn't anything you did," I assure her. "Although you can't go around biting people," I add, to reinforce the message of restraint. Except I can't help adding, "Just Jacob."

She isn't fully comforted, but the mention of Jacob—I don't like how possessive she already feels about him—helps her feel better as she remembers his blood and his warmth.

To get her thoughts off my least favourite wolf, I dare to suggest that we move a little closer to Mummy. Of course, she can't agree fast enough.

She is soothed by Bella's stillness and it's easier for her to discern the separate beats of Bella's heart, too. She wants me to let go of her hand so she can touch her, but I have to tell her what I've been telling myself: we have to be patient. "Mummy needs to sleep, and we might wake her up if we touch her."

Renesmee sighs, but accepts that and settles for touching me. Rosalie reluctantly relinquishes her hand so that Rey can run both hands up my arm. I lift her higher so she can reach my shoulders, and then she deftly traces the right side of my neck and across my jaw and my lips, enjoying their subtly softer feel.

I hold her up higher still, and she runs her fingers across my cheek and over my nose—including shoving a couple of fingers up my nostrils. She giggles when I give a little snort and my cold breath ghosts over her fingers.

As she feels her way up the bridge of my nose, I tilt my head forwards and close my eyes. She slides her fingers across my eyelids and through my brows, enjoying the wiriness of the hair. I tilt my head lower and to the side, so she can reach the hair on my head and she makes a happy sound as she buries both fists in my thick locks—she loves the texture, which is more wiry than her own or any other hair she's felt (even wolf Seth's).

She thinks I am perfect.

"You're my favourite, too," I tell her, opening my eyes, though that isn't quite true. "Equal favourite," I amend; "with Mummy."

Renesmee looks at Bella again. She wants to touch her the way she is touching me, but I don't have to remind her that she has to wait. She heaves an adorably large sigh and then goes back to playing with my hair.

Though she is already impressively strong, she isn't remotely strong enough to hurt me. I consider warning her not to tug as hard on Seth's or Jacob's hair, before deciding that they can tell her themselves… and if Jacob doesn't mind, I'm fine with that.

Rosalie is thrilled when Renesmee asks to play with her hair again, too. Then, when Rey asks about her new clothes, Rosalie somehow turns it into a full conversation. I'm a little appalled by Renesmee's burgeoning interest in clothes, but I know it will make Alice just as happy is Rosalie is right now—and at least Bella and I will have two siblings we can direct our daughter to whenever she wants to discuss styles of hems or fabric matches or whatever else takes her fancy.

I am all too happy to let the two of them immerse themselves in Alice's wardrobe without me, and Esme soon follows. While Renesmee dresses up in a dozen different outfits, Esme takes photos to create an album documenting Rey's growth. For each ensemble, the three of them move from room to room, playing around with different scenes and poses that include as little of Rosalie as possible. Emmett joins them for that segment, directing his equally imaginative niece in all sorts of inventive scenarios.

When Rey falls asleep once more, Rosalie is too energised to settle down with her; she wants to change up the pace. After delivering her precious charge into my arms, she presses her lips against Emmett's ear and whispers two words that have him throwing her over his shoulder and leaping out the nearest window in less than half a second.

Esme and Carlisle share a knowing grin, and then Esme decides it's a good time for them to leave, too. When she gestures towards the window with a tilt of her head, he wants to oblige but hesitates because he feels a duty to be here for me, and for Renesmee and Bella.

"Go," I tell him firmly. "I'll call if we need you—otherwise, forget about us."

He rolls his eyes, but resists when Esme starts to lead him to the window. "I need to get my phone."

"I've got mine," she shoots back and he chuckles, capitulating at once.

"Please, take your time," I urge as they disappear from sight.

 _We will_ , Esme assures me, already planning a visit to the cottage on their way home, so I'm confident she'll disrupt Carlisle's plan to return in half an hour.

As their thoughts fade from my mind—more quickly than usual thanks to Renesmee's powerful thoughts and my willingness to let them dominate—I fix my gaze on my beautiful wife and my attention on my daughter's magical, eclectic mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two: Attendant**

Being alone with my immobile wife and sleeping daughter is both wonderful and frustrating. I enjoy watching Bella uninterrupted, humming various soothing melodies to her (our wedding music most frequently) while listening to Rey's dreams, which are full of new words, images, and concepts—the mixed-up ones are especially adorable, like the water rainbow she imagines splashing about in, swirling the different colours around into pretty patterns. But I am still impatient for Bella to wake, and frustrated by the continuing silence of her mind. I know it is a boon not to hear it now, when she is almost certainly suffering, but I can't help thinking (perhaps unrealistically!) that I could still give our daughter the attention she deserves were Bella's pain-filled thoughts running through my mind.

As the minutes pass, more and more of my attention focuses on searching for Bella's thoughts—so it is something of a relief, after failing so constantly, when Renesmee wakes after only 23 minutes. I explain that the others have gone outside to hunt, then engage in a few brief conversations as her thoughts skip through various topics until she settles on the stories Rosalie has been telling her. Inspired by the (much embellished) rescue of Emmett, I offer to tell her the story of how Bella and I met.

Her beatific smile is answer enough, even without her enthusiastic thoughts.

"When Mummy wakes up, it will be six hundred days ago," I tell her, because the round number feels profoundly providential to me, and Rey understands the concept of a day, even if she can't yet imagine so many of them. "I was at school, sitting in the dining hall with Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, and Emmett, trying not to attract any attention from my schoolmates, when the most beautiful girl in the whole world walked into the room—except I couldn't see her because I was trying too hard _not_ to see anyone."

She doesn't understand what I mean, so I try to keep the explanation simple: "I thought I was a monster, so I didn't talk to anyone in case I hurt them." Except that leads her to ask _why_ I thought I was a monster; so I explain that I thought the differences between vampires and humans were greater than they really are. She considers asking about these differences, but then decides she'd rather I go on with my story.

"I didn't look for her thoughts until she asked the girl beside her about us, expecting to hear the same sorts of things I've heard hundreds of times—but I couldn't hear anything. Where her mind should've been, there was only silence. Complete and utter silence. Hers was the first mind I'd ever encountered that I couldn't read. I was shocked. Then I was angry—at first at _her_ , and then at myself, for getting so worked up about it. I tried to tell myself it didn't matter—that _she_ didn't matter—but she quickly proved me wrong. We were in the very next class together, and the only spare seat was next to me. When she walked by, her scent wiped every thought from my head. I wanted to bite her so badly—just like you did—" Renesmee nods, remembering the heavenly taste of Bella's blood—"except you didn't hurt her, and _I_ would have. If I'd bitten her, she wouldn't be here, and neither would you."

When she asks me to explain that, I don't particularly want to admit how close I'd come to becoming one of Rosalie's monsters (I shouldn't have told her this story!), so I settle for saying that Mummy would have been justifiably upset if I'd been so rude, and she would have rightly told me to stay far away from her. Amazingly, Rey immediately grasps the fact that the two of us not being together means she wouldn't exist, so she compliments me for being good.

I give her a kiss on the hand and we enjoy each other's smiles for a moment before she encourages me to tell her what happened next. So I describe fleeing Forks, visiting our cousins in Denali (Rosalie has already told her a few stories about that side of our extended family), and trying not to think about the curious girl whose thoughts I couldn't hear, despite her face dominating my every thought.

She drinks it all in, eagerly anticipating the return of her mother to the story. To gloss over Bella's many subsequent near-death experiences, I ascribe greater success to my woeful efforts at befriending her, share a few highlights from our first (official) date in the meadow, and wrap up with a moral. "The day I met your mother was the day I learned the true value of self-control. I hope you never have to go through anything even half as demanding as that, but if you do, I hope you'll always try to do the right thing."

She immediately asks what the "right thing" is. I have to laugh.

"Ask your mummy after she wakes up," I advise. "She always knows the right thing to do."

Renesmee grins, liking the sound of that, but her attention is already shifting back to thoughts of warm blood (specifically, her mother's). I don't want to leave Bella's side, but I can't deny our daughter—and the sooner she sates her appetite, the less risk there is that she'll start thinking about Jacob—so I tuck her under my arm and 'fly' her downstairs. She giggles and encourages me to go faster—until I reach the fridge. Then I hit a snag when she not only wants to see where the blood is stored but also to understand how the fridge works.

I try to distract her by offering her a colourful mug to drink out of, but she ends up climbing into the fridge to play with the three remaining unopened pouches of blood, and then with the thermostat. The coldness is nothing more than a minor curiosity to her, so I do my best to wait patiently while she explores this new territory, counting Bella's steady heartbeats in an attempt to overcome my discomfort. But I'm still not used to the resonant sound or its quickness, and being away from her while her heart is flying through the milliseconds fills me with all-but-irrepressible anxiety.

Telling myself there's nothing wrong doesn't help as much as it should, and it makes me realise that my formerly rational fears for Bella's wellbeing are about to become (for the most part) wholly _ir_ rational—and if I can't settle my nerves now, in the safety of our family home, how will I fare when we're anywhere else?

Thankfully, Renesmee is oblivious to my agitation—but she still wants to take the drink back upstairs so we can watch over Bella. As she drinks, she taps the metal straw against the inner wall of the mug, playing a rhythmic motif from one of the pieces I've been humming. At first, the straw won't do as she wants, but it only takes a minute for her to get the hang of moving it so that it hits the mug when she wants it to and makes the sound she wants. I love the way she uses the metre of Bella's heartbeat to set the tempo.

After listening for half a minute, I start humming the melody she's hearing in her head. She giggles happily and immediately varies the rhythm, turning it into a game.

"We can play once you've finished your drink," I promise her, but she responds by dropping the straw and pushing the mug towards me. " _I'm_ not thirsty."

I'm _not thirsty_ , she agrees, echoing me teasingly, even though she must need to drink a lot more to fuel her body's swift growth.

While I'm trying to bargain with her, I feel Rosalie's and Emmett's minds. Despite Emmett's ongoing protests, they are on their way home; they'll be here in under a minute. Renesmee grins when I hesitate, claiming victory, and I have to laugh as she starts tapping out a two-handed rhythm on my arm. She is so much like Bella.

Emmett crows when he sees the half-full mug of blood I'm holding and announces that they got back just in time. Expecting Renesmee to refuse, he jokingly asks to have it—but she agrees wholeheartedly, which makes me the bad guy for saying he's not allowed any.

He "overrules" me by asserting the need for "quality control", and Rey giggles when he dips the tip of his little finger into the mug.

Rosalie catches his hand before he can lick off the drop of blood. "It's not for you," she scolds, the high pitch of her voice reflecting her concern that he'll react badly.

He just sticks out his tongue, unperturbed, and then moves it beneath his bloody fingertip. If his curiosity weren't greater than his thirst, I would never let him do this… and maybe I'm being as reckless as he is right now, but Emmett wants to test himself and I want to give him that chance.

As a drop of the blood falls through the air, Renesmee watches curiously, aware of our tenseness but not understanding where the danger is. Then she sees the wild flash of thirst in Emmett's eyes and it terrifies her. She urges me to give him the mug, afraid he'll attack us if I don't.

But the chilled blood isn't remotely as potent as fresh blood. The moment passes quickly, and Emmett is Emmett again.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he murmurs regretfully. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Her pulse is still racing, but she appreciates the apology. She holds out her hand to him, wanting to ask what happened.

As he slowly reaches out to give her his unbloodied hand, I say, "Emmett is a _typical_ vampire," deliberately teasing him to help him get his mind back on track. "One drop of blood makes him forget everything else."

Rosalie doesn't appreciate the teaching moment; she thinks he was being selfish. "One drop makes him into a _monster_ ," she "corrects" angrily.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he murmurs, but she just scoffs.

I shake my head before she gives in to the urge to slap him. "It helps Renesmee understand our limitations," I point out. "Now she's seen a glimpse of the thirst Bella will feel when she wakes up."

Rosalie's ire vanishes in a flash, and she sags against her mate. "That's why you didn't stop him," she murmurs, even as Renesmee asks what I mean.

I nod to Rosalie, then explain to Renesmee that Mummy will be even thirstier than Emmett when she wakes up. Rey doesn't like the sound of that, but now she understands why she has to wait an indeterminate amount of time for Bella to feel like herself again.

Guilt forgotten, Emmett offers to let me suck the residual blood off his finger. Rey giggles, fortunately (for Emmett in particular) oblivious to his blatant teasing, and opens her mouth, so he gives her his bloody finger. Her bite strength surprises him; when her teeth scrape along his skin as she inexpertly cleans off the blood, he half expects them to leave scars (and is a little disappointed that they don't).

The dash of blood refreshes Renesmee's thirst, so she holds out a hand for the mug—although a large part of her motivation is to free Emmett from the ongoing temptation.

As she drinks, Emmett and Rosalie both watch on in thoughtful silence; Rosalie is trying not to get her hopes up, but she thinks Bella's love for her baby will be as useful a focus as her own thirst for vengeance had been, helping her to repress the newborn bloodlust, while Emmett delights in Rey's cavalier drinking style. Their thoughts remind me that, even now, neither of them feels anything remotely like the curiosity that had led me to abandon my family in pursuit of a different lifestyle all those decades ago. (Yes, I'd wanted to give Carlisle and Esme some time to themselves, but I could just as easily have visited our Denali cousins or traversed the United States _without_ altering my diet.)

Inspired by Emmett's amusing—but equally unsettling—image of Renesmee tackling a grizzly (because he thinks the blood in her mug is actually less appealing than a grizzly's), I ask Renesmee if she's looking forward to going hunting with us.

I expect an answer in the affirmative, but she rejects it immediately, thinking of Jacob supplying her future needs. Somehow, she is already prejudiced against non-human blood.

"You can't ask the wolves to share their blood with you whenever you want," I tell her, even though Jacob would give her every last drop of his blood if she asked for it. "It's a very special gift."

She isn't inclined to see my point of view; she would share _her_ blood with them if they wanted it, and she doesn't appreciate that the fact that they _don't_ want it makes her willingness irrelevant.

As much as Rosalie likes the idea of Jacob being Renesmee's personal blood bag, she hates the implication that he will be a regular visitor. Her disgust is exacerbated by the expectation that Bella will side with Jacob—and that I will side with Bella, no matter how I feel personally.

It is bizarre to feel her indignation on my behalf. I don't know whether to—or even how to—appreciate it, especially as it's accompanied by irritation (because she thinks I ought to stand up for myself more).

 _Bella's not human anymore_ , she "reminds" me. _You're even now_.

"I might agree with that in a few decades," I murmur.

Though I spoke quickly and quietly, Renesmee has no trouble hearing it and immediately wants to know what I'm talking about. Rather than telling her the truth, I invent a little story that doesn't involve Jacob or the losses Bella will have to endure now that her human life is over; then I change the topic entirely by asking if she'd like to make a xylophone with me.

She initially dismisses the idea, still content to tap out rhythms on my arm, but after I mimic a few of the instrument's bell-like chimes, she is won over.

Rosalie offers her assistance and then dashes out to the garage to retrieve the necessary tools and materials, while Emmett tries to convince us to make a crossbow instead. Happily, Renesmee is innately more interested in building a musical instrument than a weapon (even if Emmett only wants to use it in a sporting context), so we start designing as soon as Rosalie returns. She shows Renesmee the different pieces then sweeps her into her arms, instructing Emmett and me to undertake the actual construction. Rey giggles and settles down with her while she watches us work—needless to say, asking a constant stream of questions.

We've just completed the wooden frame when I sense Alice's mind. She and Jasper are a little over seven miles away; Carlisle and Esme are with them, because Alice had a vision of them at the cottage. She has already had visions of Rosalie and Emmett, too, and she can't wait to meet Renesmee and experience her thoughts. Her hopes are high that the headache won't be as bad now, so Renesmee's gift is an unexpected compensation for the impending blindness.

Jasper shares her excitement. He is intensely relieved that Renesmee won't incite his bloodlust, and he loves her unique name (he is used to "mashup" names thanks to the online worlds he frequents).

The moment I share the news of their impending arrival, Renesmee's attention shifts from the xylophone to recalling what we've told her about her aunt and uncle. Rosalie is thrilled by just how much she effortlessly remembers, and more than a little smug about the enjoyment her stories continue to give Renesmee.

I'm so caught up in everyone's excitement (including my own) that Alice and Jasper are less than two miles away before I realise they haven't had a single thought about their efforts in the Amazon. Does that mean they found something? I can't help wishing I could use Alice's visions to spur them on, even though they are already running almost as fast as they can. In the meantime, feeling how much Alice has missed me through her own thoughts as well as Jasper's gift makes me realise _I_ haven't had time to miss _her_ (or to appreciate just how awful it was to be so far away without any visions of us to sustain her).

The four of them rush upstairs as soon as they arrive home. Alice leaps from the doorway into my arms with a cry of joy. To indulge her (and Renesmee), I spin her around in a couple of tight circles, before introducing them to each other. Even Carlisle and Esme's profuse praise for their stunning granddaughter has not prepared them for the feeling of absolute wonder she inspires. They both feel the immediately intense attachment we all feel, made even stronger by her reciprocal response. Although she has no memory of their voices, they aren't strangers—much to Alice's delight when Renesmee tells her that Rosalie has promised that the two of them will literally fill my room with beautiful clothes for her.

My old worries about Bella's transformation threaten to resurface when Jasper realises he is as blind as I to Bella's current emotional state. If it weren't borderline horrifying, I would laugh: it is so typical of the uncertainty that has always surrounded her that everything seems to be conspiring against us. But Jasper isn't concerned (he has never tested his gift on a transitioning human before, so he's comfortable imagining that the pain of the transformation is confined to the deepest part of the mind, which, in Bella's case, he assumes he can't 'read' any more than I can), and everyone is much too full of joy for me to dwell on my unlikeliest fears. What's more, feeling their happiness (and my own) through Jasper, after his comparatively long absence, magnifies it even further.

Renesmee is captivated by the overlapping scars across Jasper's jaw and neck that are fortunately too faint for human eyes to see. She runs her fingers over them, intrigued by the subtle texture, while he and Alice listen raptly to her thoughts. Their respective gifts mean that hearing, seeing, and feeling her mind isn't nearly as jarring as it had been for the others, and this deep insight into such a special mind is more than either of them ever dreamed they'd experience.

To entertain Renesmee further, Jasper pulls up his sleeve, exposing the hundreds of ridges criss-crossing his forearm. She eagerly runs her fingers over them, too, cataloguing each one, before asking if there are more. He chuckles and then removes his shirt entirely to revel the innumerable scars patterning his torso.

Alice laughs as Rey giggles and starts running her hands all over his chest. "Get your fill now," she warns playfully. "This is the only time you're allowed to touch him. He's _mine_."

Renesmee giggles again, aware that the warning doesn't really apply to her—but she still takes it disturbingly seriously, already viewing Alice's possessiveness as not merely reasonable but logical.

To refocus Renesmee's attention without validating Alice's claim, I prompt Alice to admire the intriguing changes in Bella's new body (because she is so thrilled to see Bella wearing the orange dress that she hadn't noticed). She likes my theory that the blood Bella drank while human has supplemented the transformation, but she's too busy teasing me about my sexy wife to think it through properly. Trying to ignore her, I convey Bella's warning about the dress—but that simply inspires her to tease me that only that racy swimsuit has suited her better. Then she tries to tell me that she's seen us making love, but I see through her, so she switches to thinking that she'll tear herself away from Renesmee as soon as we leave to make sure she doesn't miss any of the "action". Because I can't voice my feelings (and Bella's) about her snooping, and Renesmee will want to know what the matter is if I frown, I have to settle for subtly shaking my head—which has no effect on my brazen sister's conscience.

Fortunately, Renesmee's thoughts are far more interesting than teasing me. Although Alice's visions are similar to seeing thoughts in many respects, she has always been curious about my gift, so she is ecstatic to finally be able to see what I see. She misses being able to converse with me through her visions, but getting to know her niece without 'spoilers' is another thrilling novelty. As fast as Renesmee shares her memories, Alice remembers something fun to share with her, so they end up swapping stories back and forth as the detail of one story links to another story of the other's.

When it becomes clear that Renesmee's influence is no longer causing a headache alongside the blindness, Rosalie wants to know how Alice plans to track hybrids without it. Rather than spoiling Rey's fun, she asks me to explain—not realising that I don't know any more than she does. I wait till Renesmee finishes her latest story and then hold up my hand for Alice.

"So," I say, as she laces her fingers through mine, "I assume from your silence on the subject that you found something?"

Alice grins at me, and then she finally shares her news. "I saw us meeting Zafrina, Sienna, and Kachiri—and I'm almost certain they know a hybrid."

The others react with understandable excitement, while I focus on Alice's visions. Although the short meeting is annoyingly light on detail (no matter what questions Alice has tried asking so far), the three 'Amazons' not only confirm their knowledge of the legends but also promise to introduce them to a friend who knows about the legends' origins… and Alice can't see that second meeting. So, their friend is either a hybrid or in the company of one.

I'm intrigued that in all of her tests so far, she hasn't dared to reveal Renesmee's existence. When I quirk an eyebrow, she intuits my question and replies (telepathically) that she felt she needed my and Bella's blessing, even for a future that may never happen. It is one of the reasons she let the timing of the meeting shift from tomorrow to early in the new year; although she is as impatient for information as the rest of us, she doesn't want to act without Bella's approval.

I nod to convey my agreement, but I'll share my thoughts later; I don't want to interrupt Jasper or Renesmee, who is enraptured by his description of the powerful rainstorm he and Alice had experienced. The images in her imagination remind him of a favourite 'weather' poem, and Rey loves his at times exuberant, at times tender, thoughtful recital of Shelley's lyrical poem _The Cloud_ , interspersed with explanations whenever called upon.

But the next poem he picks is a lot darker, and he thinks nothing of explaining the deeper satirical and political aspects, so I interrupt before he starts telling Renesmee about the bloated excesses and violent underbelly of Regency England.

And then the phone rings. Renesmee immediately wants to know who is calling, so I say that it is Esme's human friend—when in actual fact it is her Grandma Renée. For the first time, I feel like I'm telling an outright lie. While Renesmee refocuses on Jasper, blissfully unaware of my deception, I listen to Renée and Esme's disheartening conversation.

As has become usual, they begin by commiserating with each other about our lack of communication. Esme tries to avoid lying as much as possible (although almost every statement is still a lie by omission), and then she does her best to centre the conversation on Renée's life. Fortunately, Renée's absentmindedness and adorably zany ideas mean that she has plenty of news, even though their last call was less than a week ago.

Despite my regular censorship whenever Jasper gets too carried away with his stories, Renesmee's attention scarcely wavers. She _adores_ him. He is so interesting, from his curious scars to his fascinating tales and philosophies, and Alice and I both love seeing him open up with her. I don't mind that I'm on the outer now, and even Alice doesn't mind that _she_ isn't the one absorbing all of Rey's attention.

After several hours jam-packed with new and exciting knowledge (somehow, we managed to keep it mostly positive), Renesmee is utterly worn out. Rosalie tries to insist that _her_ arms form Rey's bed, but Jasper refuses to relinquish his charge, so I am suddenly faced with two scowling siblings, each demanding that I side with her/him.

" _I'm_ sharing," I point out. "So can you."

Jasper immediately grins, while Rosalie screws up her nose, ungraciously conceding the point. But Renesmee's fascinating dreams soon claim their focus, and Rosalie's face comes up just often enough to appease her. While Alice and Jasper enjoy Rey's dreams, I sift through their thoughts to build up a fuller picture of their discoveries, and then relay them to our family now that we can have a fuller discussion. (In case Bella is far enough through her transformation so as to follow my narrative, I begin with the point that Renesmee is nothing like the hybrids in the legends.)

After three days of being rebuffed by locals, despite Jasper's best efforts to win their trust, they finally found a young woman who was willing to share some local history. Over sixty years ago, seven villagers from three families had been "slaughtered" by an unseen attacker. Officials laid the blame on a rogue big cat, but those who saw the bodies—including the woman's grandfather—agreed that the bite marks were unmistakeably human. The people already knew (and still predominantly believed) the legends of "demon children"—who, in their legends, gorge themselves on human blood immediately after birth in order to power their transformation into adult-sized demons, after which they choose their victims more carefully—but there had not been any attacks in their village before then. After asking around for almost three months (according to her grandfather), they discovered that a local girl who had recently moved to a larger neighbouring village had vanished a month prior to the attack, after being seen regularly sneaking out after dark to meet a handsome stranger. Knowing that, her parents had accepted responsibility for the deaths, even going so far as to adopt two orphaned children, because it was their daughter who accepted a demon into her bed and allowed another demon to be formed.

Since then, villagers across the region had emphasised the legends' warnings for each new generation—which is why Alice and Jasper had been treated with such suspicion. The woman even joked about their physical similarity to the legends' inhumanly beautiful demons, but said she had no fear of them _during the day_.

The extra details in the legends are just as fascinating as the villagers' reaction to the attack, although we all feel a little bit guilty that the girl's parents had felt responsible for their neighbours' deaths. Thinking about the children's apparent behaviour—which sounds a lot like that of a newborn vampire learning to be discrete without anyone else to clean up the mess—makes meeting one, or even the vampire father, feel more dangerous.

Naturally, Emmett is unaffected. He tries to hurry along the discussion so he can propose a game of chess—now that Alice can't "cheat", he is (figuratively) _dying_ to play her—but Alice refuses to be rushed. If she and I could converse via our usual thought/vision channel, she would be happy to play him at the same time, but having to speak aloud irritates her too much to give any attention to _chess_. So he waits impatiently, trying to pass the time by planning out various potential strategies, while we debate the pros and cons of introducing ourselves and Renesmee to one or more hybrids.

Renesmee wakes up before we're quite finished, forcing a subject change. While she's still blinking away the drowsiness, Emmett tries to show her his chess set; he's appalled when she'd rather listen to more of Jasper's stories. To console him, Jasper says that we were about to watch Emmett and Alice play, so she agrees to watch, too. She thinks the rules are boring, but she can't help getting caught up in Emmett's passion for the game and that makes the stylised, strategic play more intriguing.

Emmett and Alice are pretty evenly matched on skill, although Alice plays me more often so she knows a few moves that he hasn't picked up yet. When one of those moves enables her to win their first game, Emmett accuses me (for the most part, teasingly) of helping her.

Renesmee giggles as he demonstrates a few of the different mechanisms—hand gestures and such like—I could have used to let Alice in on his plan.

"See!" he cries, pointing at Renesmee. "She knows the truth! I'm being cheated!"

Rey giggles again even as she shakes her head in my defence, and Emmett throws his hands up in mock disgust.

"Would you like a rematch?" Alice offers magnanimously.

"A _proper_ rematch."

She heaves a dramatic sigh, knowing he's proposing his turbo-charged version (dubbed "ultra-chess"), which could take hours without her visions to shortcut play, and then nods.

Emmett whoops, then dashes to his and Rosalie's room to retrieve the other eight sets they now require. Renesmee is considerably more impressed by the enlarged board and modified arrangement of pieces, so she asks to sit with Emmett while he plays. Jasper reluctantly hands over his charge, but he rebuffs Emmett's instruction to release Renesmee's hand.

Wanting to shield Renesmee from my brothers' quarrelling ways a little longer, I hold out my hand. "Come sit with me, Jazz."

He laughs and scoots back to my side, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. The physical contact magnifies his sense of my emotions and he sighs contentedly.

 _I thought you'd need me_ , he thinks, referring to the uncertainty of how quickly Bella will adjust to being a vampire. _But_ I _still need_ you.

He is very relieved that he can't feel Bella's emotions right now; he'd actually been dreading it, imagining projecting Bella's pain straight into my head—but he quickly replaces that line of thought with his confidence that Bella's forewarning will protect her from the worst reaction. He believes he has seen the full spectrum of responses to the newborn condition and thirst, and he knows all the things we ought to avoid—which is basically anything that could make her angry or feel physically threatened—so as to ease her transition.

Anyone else might err on the side of caution, but not Alice. After Jasper recklessly asks her if she has seen Bella's newborn reaction to the outlandish dress, she insists on taking a break from the chess game to "complete" Bella's outfit with a pair of shoes _she_ thinks are gorgeous, despite fully anticipating Bella's dislike of the strappy, sparkly, high-heeled things. I counsel her to stop at the dress, but she ignores me—and when Renesmee deems the shoes _pretty_ , I surrender.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three: Escort**

I was half-hoping Renesmee would be asleep when Bella's heart began the sprint towards its final beat, but thanks to her appreciation of her mother's condition, it is easier than I expected to say our temporary goodbyes. (Adorably, she has it in her head that the sooner she leaves, the sooner her mother will wake.)

After Rosalie has whisked her out of the room, I step forward, wishing I could know whether my touch will help Bella get through the last agonising minutes or let lose the screams that, of all of us, only Carlisle had been able to contain.

Jasper immediately pulls me back; her motionlessness makes him uneasy—he doesn't want anyone within arm's reach. "Give her some space."

I concede the point with a sigh, but he doesn't release my arm (partly because he doubts my ongoing compliance and partly because he's enjoying the direct connection to my anticipation of Bella's awakening). In any other situation, I would simply stare down at the restraining hand and he'd get the message, but I'm not about to take my eyes off Bella—and in this case, I know he'll ignore me anyway.

"Alice?" I murmur, because Jasper won't ignore _her_.

She grins at me and obligingly slides her hand beneath Jasper's, switching the object of his grip from my arm to her hand. "Any minute now!" she gushes.

Jasper smiles, responding to her enthusiasm and furthering the excitement building in the room. I wonder if Bella can feel it; I hope she can. But the tension also rises as she continues to lie there motionless, her heart the only evidence that the transformation is not yet complete.

Half a minute passes. Then a whole minute. And then, when her heart is speeding through the milliseconds so rapidly that even our sensitive ears cannot distinguish the separate beats, it abruptly stops.

The next instant, Bella's relief and amazement and pure joy suddenly burst into Jasper's awareness as his gift once again affords him full access to the whirl of emotions rushing through her. The diversity of emotions coursing through her surprises him, but I feel nothing but relief—and joy for my incredible wife.

When she opens her eyes, Jasper and I are treated to a new emotion—a fresh and powerful wonder. All of us wait with literally breathless anticipation as she sits up. Watching her move at our swift pace is an unexpected thrill. The fluid way her body moves as she slides from the bed, every line in perfect harmony, makes my body react in ways it shouldn't in polite company. But the primal lust is quickly overtaken by my amazement at the _thought_ behind her eyes. They are the most brilliant red any of us has ever seen, yet they are still _Bella's_ eyes. I see the excitement in them as she views the world with her newborn sight; I see them widen as she takes in Jasper's scars; and I see their heart-melting warmth when she looks at me. Truly, I am the luckiest creature in existence.

Thanks to Jasper (if only I could access Bella's mind as easily!), I can feel her rapture as she gazes into my eyes.

"Edward," she breathes, and her voice is as enriched as everything else about her. It is a little strange to hear her speak my name at speed, but it feels too natural to cause more than a passing distraction.

"Bella, my love," I reply, and her wide eyes widen even more as she hears my voice with her new ears.

Jasper can't understand how she can feel love for me and wonder for the world around her when her throat must be a raging inferno—but I think I do. She has endured so much mental and physical agony to reach this moment that the burn in her throat probably seems like a minor tickle. I just wish I could know for sure…

Her lips stretch into a breathtaking smile. I smile back, truly happy despite my disappointment.

Her quick eyes read the extra emotion in my face. "What's wrong?" she asks sharply.

"It's selfish of me," I reply quickly, laying the blame on me, where it belongs, "but I was rather hoping that I'd be able to hear your mind now that it's more similar to my own."

She stares deep into my eyes. "You still can't hear my thoughts."

I shake my head, rendered as mute by her penetrating gaze as the utter silence of her mind. Her face is a mask, but I feel her familiar relief through Jasper.

"Renesmee?" she blurts.

"She's incredible," I reply, the smile naturally returning to my lips. "She can't wait to meet you—but it's probably best you hunt first." _Because the rest of our family is afraid that this rational phase won't last if you don't hunt soon_.

Bella's hand goes straight to her throat—so she _does_ feel the burn. "Yes," she agrees, wide-eyed but still wholly in control.

I hold out my hand and the next instant hers is clutching mine, squeezing painfully tightly. But the pain is secondary to the electric charge between us.

One moment, we are a respectable distance apart; the next, Bella has wrapped herself around me, one leg curled around my leg, one arm around my neck, one hand fisted in my hair. If she weren't absolutely steady, she would've knocked me off my feet. And then she presses her lips against mine.

Only one thought survives the overwhelming passion—I have never been kissed before. My arms wind around her, and her body becomes my entire world. The taste of her venom gives me a little extra thrill, as does the strength in her physical form. I barely care that our entire family is watching. Even Emmett's crass thoughts can't touch me.

And then Bella tightens her grip—on my hair, on my neck, and on my leg. I can't entirely internalise the pain, and even if I could, it reminds me that I need to warn her before she cracks me.

" _Ow_ ," I murmur against her lips—and suddenly I'm alone. I sway momentarily, my instinctive balance keeping me on my feet no matter how unprepared I was for her instantaneous movement.

She is standing a full two yards away, hands clenched into fists by her sides, horror-struck at the thought of hurting me. "Sorry!" she gasps.

"Now it's your turn not to break _me_ ," I joke.

The tension in her body eases, and her concern becomes relief that she hasn't really hurt me, then self-consciousness. Her eyes flick across our family; "Sorry," she murmurs again, apologising for our wanton display.

Carlisle simply shakes his head, his eyes sparkling and his smile wide, while Esme and the others give a few quiet chuckles (trying not to enrage the newborn, no matter how rationally she is behaving right now). Jasper alone is too confused to enjoy the moment: Bella's emotions are as powerful as he has ever felt from a newborn, but she is somehow managing to maintain control. I wonder if it's because she has retained a sense of perspective—her thirst is not the sole driver of her existence—but Jasper is at a complete loss to understand how she's doing it.

Bella notices his frown amongst all the smiles and freezes.

"It's not you," I promise her. "He's just—" I pause to find the right way to describe his worries (because I think they're unfounded).

"Waiting for me to snap?" she suggests solemnly.

I chuckle. "Yes. But I don't think that's going to happen."

She smiles and unfreezes, which only fuels Jasper's anxiety.

"He might feel better once you've hunted," I say gently, trying to appease him after revealing my "reckless" faith in the self-control of a newborn two minutes old.

Her crimson eyes flash and her hand reaches partway to her throat again before falling back to her side. (Had she actually _forgotten_ her thirst?) Then, brow furrowed, she murmurs, "Just the two of us?"

"If that's what you want."

She nods once, flashing Emmett an apologetic smile in response to his disgruntled snort, then turns her attention to her feet; more specifically, to the ridiculous shoes she's wearing. We'd all heard the muted snap of one heel breaking off when she separated herself from me earlier, so Alice can't exactly object to Bella discarding the broken shoe—but she gives a little sigh as the intact shoe falls to the floor.

Bella doesn't acknowledge her (although Jasper and I feel a familiar flash of exasperation). She wiggles her toes in the soft carpet, then steps back within arm's reach and holds out her hand for me. I wrap my fingers around hers and she mirrors the motion carefully—as carefully as if I were human.

I feel the same charge of desire urging me to pull her into my arms once more, to lose myself in her kisses, and so does she—even without Jasper's extra sense, I can see it in her wild eyes—but she controls it, contains it. It is incredible to watch. And a little annoying.

"I'm not _that_ fragile," I mutter, and she laughs.

The sound makes my heart soar.

"Wait," Alice cries, dashing out of the room. "You have to see yourself before you go!"

"There aren't any mirrors—"

" _Water_ is reflective, Edward!"

Bella chuckles at that, and we share a smile; then we have to release each other's hand before our passions get the better of us once more. She must be eager to see herself—further proof that, like Carlisle, she isn't consumed by thirst the way the rest of us were at her tender age—so I appreciate our sister's insistence now.

Alice re-enters the room carrying Rosalie's huge, gilt-framed mirror, which is nearly twice as tall as she is, and several times as wide. She positions it in front of Bella while ensuring she has a direct view of Bella's face—except Bella's initial reaction is barely visible. Jasper can feel her intense pleasure, but it isn't until she meets my gaze in the mirror that a smile again lights up her face.

"We match," she says exultantly.

Easily ignoring the sad truth of it—because Renesmee is worth every negative—I decide to tease her with the truth. "I'm still ordinary compared to you."

She rolls her eyes—and then Jasper is caught off guard by the wave of _horror_ that ripples through her. I understand, though: she is staring at her new eyes.

But she handles that emotion, too. "The eyes are creepy," she mutters after a second, her tone more joking than distraught; without Jasper's insight into her emotions, I would have had no clue of their initial intensity.

"They'll darken up in a few months," I assure her. "Animal blood dilutes the colour more quickly. They'll turn amber first, then gold."

" _Months?_ " she shrills, her voice expressing the fresh alarm that is still concealed beneath her vampire composure. Her perfect eyebrows are lifted incredulously, but they don't express even a tenth of the distress she is feeling.

Jasper takes a step forward, alarmed by the intensity of her sudden anxiety, and Bella freezes again. Her focus shifts inward, and I can see that she is assessing her emotions, checking herself for the breakdown Jasper is afraid of.

"The time will pass quickly," I murmur, daring to draw her attention.

Her gaze snaps back to my face in the mirror. My smile seems to reassure her, but her face is still a mask. Then her lips curve into an answering smile. "Now you mention it," she teases, "I might have an idea for that."

"I hope it's the same as mine."

"I'm sure it is."

"I doubt that," Emmett mutters, daring her wrath because he can't resist any longer; he's sick of me ignoring his thought-directed jibes.

Bella's smile fades as she glances at his smirk and then Jasper's furrowed brow; then she takes a deep, unnecessary breath. "I'm fine," she promises him—but that only confuses him all the more.

"I'm not sure," I murmur to him, "but I don't think there's anything wrong."

Bella frowns. "What question did I miss?"

I can't help grinning. "Jasper wonders how you're doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Controlling your emotions," Jasper answers, not willing to let me 'translate' for him, given my unjustified confidence in Bella's impossible self-possession. "I've never seen a newborn do that—stop an emotion in its tracks that way. You were upset, but then you reined it in, regained power over yourself. I was prepared to help, but you didn't need it."

She glances between the two of us, no doubt weighing the contrast between his anxious expression and my wide smile.

"It's very impressive, Bella," I say, lest her former depreciatory self-image affect her judgement now, "but you must be thirsty…"

Her smooth brow creases ever so slightly, and then she sighs. "Let's hunt."

Alice isn't happy about that. "What do you think?" she asks, gesturing to the goddess in the mirror.

"I'm not sure," Bella hedges, but the way she avoids looking at her face implies that the red eyes have diminished her pleasure.

"You're utterly breathtaking," I murmur, watching her in the mirror as I lift my hand to hover beside her cheek.

She follows my gaze and studies herself anew. Moving slowly, she reaches up to hold her hand beside mine. "Do I still look like me?" she murmurs doubtfully, her quick eyes taking in the slight but noticeable lengthening in her hand and fingers.

"Of course," I reply, although I'm only just starting to realise how much my ability to read the emotions in her face has been undermined.

The new guardedness notwithstanding, even without Jasper's insight, it is clear she doesn't appreciate my answer. When she drops her arm, I follow suit. "I know it sounds weird after everything I've said," she murmurs, "but she's _too_ perfect."

"You've always been perfect," I say, despite expecting the eye roll that immediately follows. Then, hoping she still believes it now that she is one of us, I offer the perspective she has put forth on many occasions. "You are now as you were always meant to be."

It works; she smiles, and then something about her mouth seems to distract her. "Yes," she agrees, sounding happy again. Then she glances down at her body, eyes lingering on the exposed midriff I'm struggling to keep my hands off.

When she looks up, she grins at me, no doubt amused by the way my gaze lingered on her stomach, then smiles at Alice. "I concede that the dress looks good on me—but even _dead_ , I'm never going out in public like this."

We all chuckle, pleased that she apparently remembers her human life so clearly.

"Good," I say firmly, because there's no way I could endure the naturally lascivious thoughts her divine form would inspire.

She flashes me another grin, then glances back at her face in the mirror and takes a deliberate breath, before turning to face me. "Ready when you are."

When I gesture to the open window across from us, however, a flicker of nerves exposes her reservations with this new mode of exit I'm proposing.

"Gentlemen first," she replies, managing an impressively casual tone.

I dip my head to accept her 'polite' offer, then saunter over to the opening, turning as I go in order to keep my eyes on her the whole time and making a show of stepping backwards into space without altering my gait. She approaches the window and watches intently as I descend. Her eyes widen ever so slightly when I hit the ground lightly, having cushioned the impact so that there's barely a sound, without once looking down.

She takes a deep breath, then steps off. Jasper feels a burst of fear from her before the rush of falling through the air takes over and she starts to enjoy it. Her gaze darts across the ground, across me, and across the view, back and forth, before fixing on the ground as it draws close. She does an impressively good job of cushioning her fall, making only slightly more noise than I did, but it is the grace of her movements that catches us all—even me—by surprise.

 _Graceful_ is not a term that has ever been applied to a newborn, yet Bella moves with the fluidity of water over timeworn stone. She is graceful in stillness, too. Her posture had always been flawless, but now she stands perfectly erect, no sign of stiffness and no vestige of (the hopefully former) self-consciousness visible in her mien. She seems taller now, too, even though her physical height has scarcely changed.

We share another grin and then she looks back up at the second-storey window and the majority of our family assembled there.

"You can jump up there when we get back," I quip, figuring there's at least a chance she's contemplating doing that amongst all the other thoughts she is apparently sustaining right now—this awe-inspiring composure makes missing out on her unique thoughts all the more devastating!

"All right," she concedes with a laugh, confirming my assumption. "So, what's the plan?"

"We jump the river," I say, pointing to a spot which will be visible to our whole family, including our excited daughter.

"I'll let you go first again," she says generously, exposing none of the fresh nerves I can feel through Jasper.

"As you wish."

To put on as much of a show as possible, I bound towards the river in two long strides before launching myself into the air from a large, flat stone at the water's edge. As I ascend through the air, I turn a somersault, adding a corkscrew so as to once again have Bella within my sight (rather than relying on our family's eyes).

For a split second, her open-mouthed expression betrays the admiration she's feeling; but when she sees the triumph in my face, she clamps her lips together.

"Show-off," she mutters after I land noiselessly on the other bank, and the familiar reproof makes me laugh.

To tease her, I give a theatrical bow, which makes her (and the rest of our audience) laugh.

Her nerves return, however, when she refocuses on her own jump. She studies the river for almost half a second, her eyes mapping out the path I took, before skipping a few paces to the right to give herself a longer run-up. Except, after springing off one foot and discovering that she reaches the same flat stone in a single bound, she doesn't hesitate before launching herself into the air.

She errs so much on the side of caution that she flies skywards in an arc that will take her deep into the dense forest behind me. I start running before she hits the ground, and I know exactly where she is—thanks to my own calculations and the many eyes of our watching family—but seeing her disappear into the trees a hundred yards ahead still sends a visceral jolt of terror through my body.

While homing in on her joyful laughter, I do my best to process the terrifying truth that her heartbeat is no longer the constant signal ringing out through the distance between us. It won't be long before she learns to quiet her breathing and moderate her steps, so I will soon have little more than her scent and her voice to follow whenever I lose sight of her.

My speed is almost as great a comfort as her laughter, helping me put aside the anxiety in the third of a second before I reach her. She is standing on a branch fifteen feet above the ground, still laughing. Everything around her is aglow, the ordinary made magic, more colourful, more vibrant, in the reflected light from her luminescent skin. I feel like I should sink to my knees in worship; maybe I would if I could concentrate on something so utterly unimportant as my own body. So I simply watch in awe as she gives one last musical chuckle and then steps off the branch, her bright eyes locked on mine, landing effortlessly by my side.

"That was fun," she declares. "What's next?"

Rather than spoil her high spirits by reminding her that we're supposed to be hunting, I propose another physical exploit. "How's your running form?"

"Let's find out!" she gushes—and then she is moving, already disappearing into the trees ahead by the time I spring into motion. "Keep up!" she calls over her shoulder, laughing when I arrive at her side before she's finished teasing me.

"Careful not to run into any trees," I tease back.

She lets out a glorious peal of laughter—and then ups the pace. I can't tell if she's running at full speed yet, but one of her strides is equivalent to four of mine. She really is a natural at this, both physically and in the way she takes advantage of the trails made by large animals to ease our passage through the forest.

Not letting it go unsaid, I say, "You're a natural-born runner."

"I'm a natural-born _vampire_ ," she corrects with another laugh.

I have to laugh, too—because she must be the furthest from a 'natural' vampire that has ever existed. But I know what she means, and I am equally pleased by the ease with which she has adjusted to her new body. "I'm glad you think so."

She smiles for a split second, then suddenly gets serious. "How worried were you that I wouldn't like being a vampire?"

"I wouldn't say I was _worried_ , but it is a huge change…"

She ponders my words momentarily before shaking her head. "Not for me," she murmurs, and there's a wistful quality to her voice that leads me to believe she's thinking of all the other big changes she experienced in her short human life.

But the moment of introspection is fleeting; in another split second, she is distracted by something out to her left; then her attention is drawn by a pileated woodpecker launching itself from a branch above our heads, flapping noisily as it tries to gain altitude as quickly as possible.

As I watch her head swing from side to side, alongside my yearning for her thoughts, I realise just how much I have taken my sharper, swifter senses for granted. When she was human, her movements gave me all the time I needed to foresee her actions and read her reactions, but now that her new mind and body work as swiftly as mine, guessing the object of her focus or anticipating her intent seems all but impossible.

I knew it would be like this, but it is only now that I realise I'd expected to have time to adjust while Bella learned to manage her newborn instincts. I should have known she would adapt instantly—stretching my own adaptability to the limit. And yet, as always, she is also helping me cope. The way her eyes flit back to my face every half-second or so, as attentive as always, reassures me, and her frequent bursts of laughter make my heart sing.

As we race northeast through the forest, part of my attention is still held by our incredible daughter. Even as we approach a distance of ten miles, I can see and hear everything she can, almost as if I were there myself. (Right now, she is replaying her mother's beautiful laughter and our river crossings, while listening to the others express their wonder at the impossibly poised, rational newborn they just met.)

After 14 miles, her thoughts start to fade from my mind, but I don't really mourn the loss; Bella is simply too captivating. She is utterly incredible. I can hardly believe that she is only minutes old. But I remind myself that she _is_ a newborn, even if there is nothing _wild_ about her—easing her thirst should be our focus right now.

Before I've figured out a way to gently broach the subject of hunting, apropos of nothing, Bella suddenly gathers up her hair in both hands.

"I should have plaited my hair," she exclaims. "It must be so tangled!"

I can't stop the little chuckle that escapes me. "It won't _ever_ get tangled."

She drops her hands, letting her hair fall back down across her shoulders and back. "Wasn't Victoria's hair a mess?" she asks uncertainly.

"That was the work of centuries of total neglect. Nothing short of a jet engine could tangle your hair now."

It takes a moment for that news to sink in, and she has to comb her fingers through a few sections to confirm it for herself, but then she laughs. "Every time I think I know how amazing this life is, it gets even better."

"I'm glad," I murmur, wishing I could spare her from the worst aspects of this life (the bloodlust and the isolation from her human family) the way she has spared me.

"How fast are we going?" she asks excitedly, either to check her own calculations or to calibrate her internal yardstick.

"Six-hundred-seven-and-a-quarter miles per hour."

She laughs delightedly. "Can you go faster?"

I am intensely curious to know just how much faster she can already run—and how much faster _I_ could push myself with her as my incentive—but I have to be the responsible one. "Shall we hunt first?"

She frowns—and then abruptly stops running. I'm three yards ahead before I can react, spinning around to return to her side.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

I shake my head. "I'll figure it out."

" _We_ will," she amends.

As much as I appreciate her consideration, I find myself blurting, "There wouldn't be a problem if I could hear your thoughts." It is my own fault; clearly, I am too used to voicing my thoughts around her, but now she has the hearing and the mental swiftness to understand me. The way she cringes swamps me with guilt.

"You think I'm _deliberately_ blocking you?" she murmurs, the hurt just barely audible in her hushed voice.

"No," I say quickly, cursing my thoughtlessness. "It was a poor attempt at humour."

" _Nothing_ more _?_ " she presses, seeing through my pathetic excuse.

Nodding would be untruthful, so I shrug lightly in an attempt to downplay my answer. "Maybe you could _choose_ to let me in?"

She sighs. "How?"

Instinctively, I go to take her hand before remembering just how distracting the feel of her new body is; with the thrill of running still lingering in my body, I will lose my head the moment I touch her. So I drop my hand. "I'm sorry," I murmur instead. "It's selfish of me."

"I understand," she replies kindly. "And maybe I'm being selfish, too. Maybe I _am_ blocking you."

She is still much too forgiving of my weakness, but I've already delayed us needlessly, so I don't want to dwell on the negative. "We'll figure it out," I say, pleased when she smiles. "After all, the others can't hear each other's thoughts."

"But it's normal for you, and I get how unsettling it must be having no warning of what I'm going to do."

"I'm not _unsettled_ ," I assure her. "It'll take a little adjustment, but no more than any of the other little things that are different now—for instance, I think you'll have to forgive me for being unnecessarily protective for a little while."

She laughs. "Of course—and I hope you _won't_ have to forgive me if I hurt you."

Figuring I'll have a better chance of convincing her there's no need to feel guilty _before_ she hurts me, I pick the 'happier' memory of a time I caused her physical harm (skipping over the injuries James inflicted, the time I threw her into a stack of glass plates, and the two days of torture she just endured). "I turned your body into a finger painting—any such count is massively in your favour."

As I'd expected, she smiles widely at the reminder, though it only takes a split second for her primary focus to shift from pleasure to sympathy. "Do you still feel guilty about that?"

"Yes," I admit, because anything else would be a lie, "but I have forgiven myself, because I know you don't want me to feel guilty about it—so remember that I don't want you to feel guilty either."

She nods again, and we share a comfortingly familiar moment of harmony. Staring into her vivid red eyes is a constant reminder of how changed she is—and yet her composure means I can already revel in the joy of my mate no longer being terrifyingly fragile.

And then, at no sign I can discern, she abruptly frowns and looks away.

"What's wrong?" I blurt, half afraid of the answer.

"My eyes," she murmurs forlornly. "They must spoil—"

"They don't," I interrupt, eager to relieve her of this imagined unpleasantness. She lifts her gaze back to mine and I feel like I can see the hopeful look beneath their sang-froid. "The colour is a constant reminder of how strong you are now."

She smiles a little, but doesn't seem fully reassured. "They don't look like monsters' eyes?"

"They look like _your_ eyes."

She snorts self-deprecatorily. "I _know_ that's not true."

I raise my hand towards her face, before remembering that if I touch her, I'll lose sight of our purpose (easing Bella's thirst) altogether—not that my answer will do anything to remedy our current distraction. "Truthfully… the red turns me on."

" _What?_ "

"I've never seen such a bright red—even _Jasper_ hasn't."

She ponders that for a split second, her lips twitching as though she can't decide whether to smile or pout. "It's probably the extra blood in my system," she proposes, sounding happier beneath the hesitant tone. "Or maybe it's because you pumped me so full of venom…"

I chuckle at her phrasing. "That's my new favourite theory."

She laughs once, then abruptly lets out a sigh. "How do you keep track of everyone else's thoughts _and_ your own? Mine are—" she gives up on words and instead mimes her head exploding.

The yearning I already feel for her thoughts multiplies a billion times. "Tell me?" I beg.

"I don't think I can—a lot of it isn't _in_ words. Or, rather, most thoughts end up incomplete. Each one reminds me of another before I can even think about the first one." But she isn't immune to my peculiar neediness, so she takes stock for a second, then says, "I thought that, technically, vampires are dead—or _undead_ , whatever that means—but I've never felt more _alive_ , more connected with every living thing around me. Can I really hear the plants _growing_?"

"Yes, and animals burrowing through the earth."

She listens for a moment, then nods. "I think I can tell the difference."

"Can you hear the heartbeats?" I prompt, hoping to get us both back on track—remedying Bella's physical discomfort is the priority right now.

Her brow furrows ever so slightly, then her head whips around, orienting south towards the sound. "Deer?"

I nod, just barely stopping myself from telling her that they're elk, specifically, because the distinction isn't relevant (and would only place more attention on our unfortunate prey). Instead, to help calibrate her senses, I say, "Five of them, a little under a mile away."

I breathe with her as she tastes the air.

"They don't smell great," she mutters.

"When we're closer, they'll smell better—and worse."

She _hmmms_ , then nods. "Let's hunt," she says firmly—but when she starts running, she goes at a 'leisurely' 237 miles per hour.

Even as we close to within a few hundred yards, Bella maintains a steady pace. I know she isn't looking forward to killing innocent creatures, so I'm considering offering to make this first kill for her. But such thoughts are entirely forgotten on our next synchronous breath—when the heady scent that fills our nostrils is no longer the musty ungulates.

Bella turns aside, sprinting east towards the forbidden source before I can even open my mouth.

I call her name as I race after her, but my voice has no effect. The vampire's instinctive bloodlust has blinded her to all else.

This catastrophe is one I've considered in the past, but now that it's actually happening, I feel utterly unprepared. Alone (because even if Alice has a vision of this, none of our family will be able to reach us in time), I can see only three possible outcomes: Bella killing the two humans before I can stop her, Bella ripping me apart and then killing the two humans, or (the least likely by far) Bella attacking me, then realising I'm hurt and managing to stop herself.

"Bella, please!" I beg, trying to express every ounce of my fear through my voice in the hope that it might touch her. "Don't leave me!"

When there's still no response, I can't think of anything else to say that would improve our odds. If I had time, I'd break off my own arm in the hope of distracting her—but dismembering myself for the potential shock value only works if I can get her attention (and in that scenario, it would be even easier for her to incapacitate me). So I focus all my energy on catching up, willing my legs to move faster, to stretch further on each stride.

As I close to within twenty yards, she suddenly emits a feral snarl and spins around, fixing me with the most frightening glare I've ever seen. It is my Bella, but there is no recognition in her eyes. I am nothing more than a would-be rival—a potential threat that she will not hesitate to eliminate if I dare to try stealing her prey.

I come to an immediate halt. It feels as though her warning scowl is what freezes me in place, stabbing me through the heart with its empty stare—and yet this is more than I'd dared hope for. "Bella," I murmur, begging her to see _me_.

And then, impossibly, she does. The hardness in her eyes is replaced by alarm, and the aggression drops from her pose.

I dare to take a step towards her, holding up my hands in a universal signal of surrender. "Let me help," I murmur.

Her eyes flash across my hands and back up to my face, but otherwise she stays rigidly motionless, so I take another step—and then she suddenly bolts, sprinting northwards.

"I have to get away from here," she hisses through gritted teeth.

Not wanting to risk reigniting her instinctive defensiveness, I give her a 30-yard head start before following after. For nine miles, she impels herself to run faster and faster. Then, at the start of the tenth mile, she finally slows, to warn me, before coming to a halt. As I close the distance between us, she sinks to the ground, hunching up on herself, gripping an ankle in each hand and growling softly.

"It's okay," I murmur as I approach, just in case she needs the reminder that it's me.

"I still know _exactly_ where they are," she moans, her voice full of bitter longing.

It breaks my heart to see her in pain—pain that _I_ caused with my unforgiveable carelessness. "Let me help you," I beg as I kneel down in front of her, trying to think through the crippling remorse.

When she raises her right hand, I have a split second's warning that our passion is the distraction she's choosing before she grabs my face and slams our lips together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four: Mate  
**

Bella kisses me with a definite purpose—not that I can remember what that is with her lips fused to mine—as she shifts out of her hunched position. Her passion briefly eclipses mine, and then I let go, and we are equals in the kiss, giving and giving until there is truly no difference between us.

Without breaking our kiss, she shoves me backwards onto the ground and straddles my hips. One of us rips my trousers open. When we unite our bodies, the feeling is indescribable. Everything is more. Every touch, every shift of her body against mine. Her scent. Her strength. Her speed. I almost close my eyes, needing to shut off one sense because the others are in overload—but, even now, when I have her in my arms, as close as she can physically be, I can't bear to lose sight of her.

Our lovemaking is essentially one long, drawn-out, all-consuming orgasm—and my orgasm is like an out-of-body experience. Bella's face is all I can focus on, all I can think about. I know I am crying out in ecstasy, but for an eternal moment, there is only silence. The roar in my ears comes later—as though my mind has surpassed the speed of sound. As I settle back into my physical self, the thought makes me chuckle. I am quickly distracted when Bella joins in.

Her breathlessness pleases me immeasurably; there's no doubt she feels as gratified as I. Despite her unsated bloodlust, she looks triumphant.

" _That_ ," she says emphatically, "was—" and then she clamps her lips shut. I wait—for once, in this infinite moment, it doesn't feel like waiting—but she doesn't go on. In fact, she shifts her gaze from my face to the flattened moss beside my shoulder. It isn't hard to imagine the blush that would have flushed her cheeks were she still human.

When my impatience finally stirs, I stroke her cheek, hoping to encourage her to elaborate, and she nods to signal that she just needs a moment. The familiar gesture reassures me, and reminds me that, even though I am once more feeling the passage of time, it no longer holds any power over us. Technically, I could wait all day for her answer. That thought gets me through the two-and-a-quarter seconds of silence.

" _Hot_ ," she confesses quietly. "I don't mean I wasn't aware of you, but… it was all about the sex…" When my smile widens, she relaxes once more; then her brow crinkles ever so slightly. "I _am_ more curious about what you're thinking, but not really… Is that weird?"

"No. It's just me. Sorry."

She shrugs. "I have so much more room in my head now—it makes sense to wonder anyway. Are the others wondering?"

"Yes and no; they're a little nervous because I can't hear if you're in danger of losing control, but that's all."

She nods solemnly. "I get that."

" _I'm_ not worried."

"No?"

"If anything startles you, I'll be your distraction—"

She giggles, and the movement travels through her body and into mine, overwhelming us both with renewed lust.

This time is almost as frenetic, but now that my brain is slightly less overwhelmed, I have greater control over my actions. My hips need no instruction, as before, but my hands enjoy the chance to explore my wife's new body, and I press my lips to whichever part of her is in reach. At some point, I spare half a thought for the dress she had been wearing, but I can't remember what happened to it, and I don't feel the slightest urge to look away from her in order to find it.

Bella moans delightedly, over and over, lending our coupling a rapturous melody as she shifts her body on every thrust to help me smother every inch of her in kisses. At times, her fingers tighten a little too much on my arm or my chest, or in my hair, but I find myself not caring in the slightest; in fact, it adds to the thrill, knowing she is equally consumed by our lovemaking.

An infinitesimally small part of me mourns the loss of her speeding pulse, of the feel of her heartbeat throbbing through me—but that is the only human trait I miss. I'd expected to miss her former heat, too, not realising that the matching temperature of her titanium-velvet skin would feel infinitely more satisfying.

Long after I've forgotten that life exists beyond this ecstasy, as we luxuriate in the afterglow of our latest synchronous climax, Bella hums softly.

"I thought I wouldn't feel this way for a long time," she murmurs. Her fingers trace the planes of my face, lingering on my lips.

"I'm not surprised," I reply, the words coming out a little slurred as my brain reengages. " _Impressed_ , to say the least, but not surprised. You've taught me anything's possible."

"You _made_ the impossible possible."

Rather than doubling up on the compliment, I take the opportunity to express my devotion anew. "I would do _anything_ for you—even violate the laws of physics." When she quirks an eyebrow, I briefly explain the split second of infinite silence I'd experienced, teasingly attributing it to a metaphysical exceedance of the sound barrier.

As before, when she laughs, we return to our previous activity. I have never felt such intense pleasure. I am nothing _but_ pleasure as I give myself over to the rhythm of our bodies.

At some point, while I am still mostly lost in the haze of pleasure from yet another exquisite, synchronous orgasm, Bella's voice calls me back to reality. "Even now," she murmurs, "I'm so used to the way you felt when I was human. It's weird to discover that my new skin—and yours—is actually _soft_. And _warm_! Well, not _warm_ warm, but you know what I mean."

I wholeheartedly concur, but with my whole body still singing with power, all I manage is a soft hum of agreement.

She smirks down at me. "You're intoxicated by me," she teases gleefully.

"I've never denied it," I breathe. In the back of my mind, I wonder how she can be so lucid when I still feel so separate from myself, so giddy with pleasure.

"I suppose what's changed is that I can see it now," she jokes, moving her hand to within half an inch of my cheek, very deliberately _not_ touching me, even though our bodies are still fully coupled. Then her tone turns serious; "I never want to be parted from you ever again—but there's a part of me that means that _literally_."

My body reacts to that—my entire being feels the same way and immediately seeks to ensure her continued closeness—and she laughs as she obligingly surrenders to my interminable passion.

Eventually, though, during our next pause, the reality of my selfishness penetrates the fog of my desire. However happy she appears to be, her thirst must be acute. "Are you ready to try again?" I murmur, asking as indirectly as I have the wits to, in case she needs more time to recover from our near-disastrous first attempt.

She tenses (presumably because she comprehends my meaning), then forcibly relaxes. "I can ignore it."

"Like Carlisle," I murmur, and she gives a soft chuckle.

"No—I have a much better distraction," she replies, tipping her head at me.

As flattered as I am, I can't take credit for her apparent imperviousness to the nagging thirst. Her ability to discuss the bloodlust so calmly on her first day— _before her first hunt_ —is unprecedented. And then her brow furrows and I wonder if she's realising that it's not that simple. One word is enough to dispel the momentary doubt.

"Renesmee," she breathes, almost making it a question.

I nod, feeling guilty that my focus on Bella—and my own pleasure—has made me forget the duty we owe our daughter. "She'll be waiting for you."

"And I have to hunt before we go home."

"Yes; Alice—" I stop when she growls.

" _Shush_ ," she commands, unnecessarily. Then she takes a deep breath before gently uncoupling our bodies.

Her composure is truly astounding as she stands up and calmly scans the tattered fabric surrounding us that represents what remains of my clothing. When her eyes come to rest on something to her left, I spare a glance to see what it is (if only I could see through her eyes!). It is her dress; somehow, it looks to have survived intact. She carefully steps around the scraps of material on her way to retrieve it, then chuckles softly, musically, as she gently picks it up and steps into the skirt. The shoulder straps are broken, but the two sections of the bodice are more than capable of providing sufficient cover on their own. She gingerly tears off the dangling straps, then deftly winds the pieces through her hair, plaiting it loosely.

 _My_ predicament, however, is far more complicated; I'm reminded of it when her gaze travels down my naked body, eyes darkening anew as they linger on my persistent erection. I'd like nothing more than for us to get distracted again, but I force myself to move, starting with retrieving the remnants of my trousers and using them to subtly screen my lower half.

"I didn't think _you_ would need a change of clothes," she murmurs wistfully. "We're going to have to sneak home."

"I can repair this," I assure her.

" _How?_ "

We both chuckle as I inspect the shredded garment. I double check my calculations (something that would normally be unnecessary) before describing my plan to use fabric from the lower legs to patch up the front. Bella wishes me luck and then watches with obvious admiration as I fashion myself a remarkably serviceable pair of shorts, using a series of small knots to tie the different pieces together.

On, the clothing even resembles Regency-era breeches.

"Very _Pride and Prejudice_ ," Bella compliments.

"I thought you'd like it."

She nods once. Then her smile turns distinctly flirtatious. "Did you forgo our underwear deliberately?"

"I honestly didn't think about it. I changed you as quickly as possible, and I did the same for myself."

She laughs. "Practical _and_ exhilarating."

I would laugh with her, but I still don't seem to have the necessary coordination. "I'm glad my oversight turned out to be so useful."

She gives a little _hmm_ that sounds faintly vexed, but her general mien is still cheerful, so I resist the urge to ask what she's thinking (and the urge to apologise), and then she looks up at the overcast sky. I glance up, too, even though I know what she is seeing: millions of miniature rainbows sparkling in the otherwise grey clouds. If the blanket of cloud weren't so thick, we'd be able to see stars and planets as well; but, right now, only the sun's bright silhouette is still visible… and it is lighting up a section of cloud that is much closer to the horizon than I'd expected.

"How long have we been gone?" Bella asks suddenly, interrupting my calculations on that very matter.

"Based on the sun, it's twenty to eight… which means fifty or so minutes."

Her mouth falls open. " _Fifty minutes?_ " Then she chuckles. "I don't feel so bad now. It feels like hours—no, _days_."

I nod. "Like a lifetime."

"Welcome to eternity," she murmurs tenderly. Her hand lifts as though she means to touch my cheek, but then she thinks better of it. With a sigh, she shifts her gaze from my face into the densest stand of trees. "Where's the nearest herbivore?"

After transferring a little more attention to my sense of hearing, I locate a trio of deer in half a second—and then I take another half-second to confirm that there are no humans within five miles. "South-east; just over half a mile away."

"Lead the way," she requests solemnly. "Slowly, please."

I set our pace at 100 miles per hour—the equivalent of a lazy jog for us both—so we come upon the deer in less than twenty seconds. Bella looks nervous, so I dart ahead the last thirty yards and take out all three black-tailed deer in one swift strike. Aware of my mate's latent newborn instincts, I carry the smallest one a dozen yards away and then wait for her to start drinking.

The careful way she kneels by the deer's neck amazes me all over again. How is the speeding heartbeat not driving her wild with thirst? She even rests her hand on its neck before lowering her head and finally biting through the skin to reach its blood.

Her eyes are closed, but her body visibly tenses as the blood enters her mouth, and she drinks as swiftly as any newborn, draining the carcass in seconds. When she immediately turns to the second deer, I remember the deer in front of me. I am tempted to offer it to her as well, before deciding to take my share; I don't want her to think I'm going hungry, especially now she knows firsthand the thirst we suffer.

I drink as quickly as I can, which, thanks to my greater experience, is fractionally faster than Bella. When she stands up, we regard each other in silence for a moment; her eyes are excited without looking feral, but I can see her testing herself, checking for any lingering wildness—which implies she felt at least something akin to the mindless bloodlust.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

As I marvel at her incredible presence of mind, I realise it is the only thing that has saved us from breaking the treaty twice in Bella's first few minutes as an immortal.

I can't hold in the apology any longer. "I'm so sorry for ruining our first hunt. You trusted me—"

She traverses the distance between us in four hundredths of a second. Her lips are parting to speak as she covers my mouth with her hand, but the rush of passion overwhelms us both. While my hands seek out bare skin, she tears through the knots on one side of my hastily repaired trousers and then springs upwards in my arms, expertly wrapping her legs around my waist. Our bodies interlock effortlessly, and the novel position coupled with the lingering adrenaline of the hunt has us both climaxing in moments—which is fortunate because I'm entirely too preoccupied to stay on my feet any longer.

Bella chuckles softly as I sink to my knees, setting a foot on the ground to help steady me. But when she uses that foot to gently slip through my arms and remain standing, I feel utterly bereft.

"Renesmee," she murmurs softly, and although I understand—I feel the same draw to return to our daughter, or I would if I could focus on anything other than my beautiful, sexy, powerful, awe-inspiring wife—I miss our physical connection acutely. I ache to have her back in my arms.

"It wasn't your fault," she murmurs suddenly. " _I_ went after them."

It takes a moment to process her words and their meaning, and then I realise that she's explaining why she won't accept my apology. "Of course you did. What I don't understand is how you managed to stop. I couldn't have done that when I was a newborn."

"There weren't ever people around?" she challenges.

"We always check before we give ourselves over to the hunt. I was unforgivably careless."

She shakes her head absently, her focus inward as she ponders my answer. "I'm not sure I know what you mean," she says after a moment. "I didn't feel any different until I caught the human scent."

"Were you focusing on the elks' heartbeats?"

"Yes," she agrees uncertainly. "You said their scent would get better when we were closer, but it didn't really. And this blood… I know I couldn't have stopped once I started, and the burn in my throat is definitely less than it was, but I didn't feel the… _frenzy_ you all talk about."

The familiar—but no less impressive—sentiment makes me smile. "Carlisle doesn't feel it either; he has never felt it, except perhaps the first time, which he doesn't remember clearly."

" _Never?_ Even when he changed you?"

"It's different for him. Tasting human blood intensified the burn, but he was still fully in control."

She nods at that, as if the simple description—one that condenses centuries and a myriad of powerful urges and sensations into a comparatively token account—explains everything. She must really feel that way, too.

"Your eyes are so beautiful," she murmurs, distracting me. When I go to return the compliment, she waves me silent. "I'll believe you when they're not blood red," she mutters. "Why are yours brighter than the others'?"

"My eyes were green, so the colour is less dense."

"Alice had dark eyes?"

I nod. "A much darker brown than Jasper's or Esme's," I reply, hoping she won't ask me anything about James (I don't mind if _those_ memories stay faint), because it is only thanks to him that I got a glimpse of human Alice. "Carlisle's, Rosalie's, and Emmett's were all shades of blue."

While she ponders the differences in their eyes, I set my mind to re-repairing my ruined trousers. Knotting the fabric back together makes the front section sit lopsidedly, but it's not too obvious so I call it a success.

Before I get to my feet, Bella suddenly waves her sparkling fingernails at me. "I look like I've got one of those French manicures!" she bursts out, and I get the strong impression that she's _complaining_ about it. "How did that happen? Even Rosalie's don't look like that."

I shrug. "Your skin was a lot paler than hers."

" _Yours_ don't look like that."

"Your body was in much better condition," I propose.

When she cringes, I assume the reference to her pre-vampiric blood-drinking was too overt; then she says, "Poor Rosalie," and I rethink my assumption.

"It doesn't matter to her now," I say, pleased that I can reassure her on that point. "She has everything she ever wanted."

"Even though it's not _her_ baby?"

"May you have better luck convincing her of that than I."

She laughs, but—if I'm reading it correctly—there is still a hesitancy in her expression. Does she remember Rosalie's long-term bitterness more clearly than her very recent warmth?

"While you were changing, she actually thanked Carlisle for saving her—and she even thanked _me_ for being immune to her killer looks."

Instead of the fresh laughter I expect, Bella regards me wistfully. "So much would be different if you _had_ favoured her. Neither of you would know what you'd missed out on, but Emmett and I would have lost our happily ever afters—although _death by ferocious grizzly bear_ is much more impressive than _death by out-of-control van_ ," she adds, grinning once more.

I can't share her levity—the memory of that day still stirs up so many powerful emotions—but I manage a smile and then use the necessity of getting to my feet to hide the tension in my body. I'm not sure how successful I am, but the way Bella arranges her arms across her midriff (covering the gaps in her dress) suggests that she blames my unsated desire.

When her eyes flit across the fallen deer, I encourage the change in focus by suggesting we seek out another herd.

"No," she replies at once. "I want to go home—but you could take their hides?"

Although the request catches me by surprise, I don't let my amazement delay us. "Of course. It'll take a minute to get all three—"

"Please," she interrupts, so I get straight to work.

After watching me for a few seconds, she asks, "Have you grown to like the taste of deer blood?"

I give her a wry smile, wishing I could say yes, and she returns the smile, her eyes sympathetic.

"Is that what you meant when you said they'd smell _worse_ once we got closer?"

"Not exactly—I hoped it might be different for you; that you might not dislike the taste." I hesitate to explain the other reason, the _real_ reason—the way the bloodlust _consumes_ us, exhorting us to forget all that we are for a temporary reprieve from the burn.

"So mountain lions just smell good?" she teases.

"You could say that," I tease back, going with a lighthearted answer because, in truth, humans are the only animals that smell _good_.

She seems to see the other answer in my eyes, though, for her expression turns serious. "When _we_ met," she murmurs, bolstering my conjecture, "how did you stand it?"

"For Carlisle. Because I had to."

She bursts into a smile that catches me a little off guard in its intensity, implying that she remembers making use of that concept herself recently.

"You remember?"

She nods. "I didn't want to forget anything. Everyone said human memories fade if you don't think about them, so I went through all of mine as soon as I could think again."

The deliberate phrasing confuses me slightly. "While you were still changing?"

"Yes and no," she replies, shrugging. "I didn't want to muddle them up, so I only focused on a few simple memories at first—the ones that helped me remember everything I had that was worth the pain. But as it got easier to… compartmentalise it, I guess, I started thinking about more and more—when I wasn't listening to you all telling stories to Renesmee."

Her description is frankly awe-inspiring, but the last part brings me up short. "Did you hear the one I told her about the day we met?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "No…"

"I may have told our hours-old daughter that I very nearly gave in to the urge to kill you."

Her lips twitch as though she can't make up her mind between concern and amusement. "What exactly did you say?"

As I recite my poorly planned story, my embellishments earn a few chuckles and more than a few raised eyebrows. Bella interrupts twice to clarify the truth, and then I end with the point that she always knows what the right thing is.

"You said that?"

"Of course. I may have embellished a few things and glossed over even more, but that one is the absolute truth."

She purses her lips. "I have a lot to live up to."

"You're having no difficulty so far."

"For myself, maybe, but everything is so much more complicated now."

"You still know what to do. Do you remember Seth's advice about not letting your mind's extra capacity be taken up with worries? You can see more of the possibilities more easily now, but you can think of more solutions, too."

She smiles. "I remember what a good influence Seth has been on your mindset."

The point is a good one, so it is easy to laugh—even through the frustration that I have to ask what she does and doesn't remember. I consider asking her to recount her memories for me now, but I don't want to badger her; after all, my story has already reminded her of several highlights. So I say nothing while I finish stripping the third deer's skin from its flesh.

"How was it for you?" she asks softly. "The day you woke up a vampire."

The question catches me a little off guard; right now, experiencing Bella's first day, my memories of my own awakening seem surreal. "Carlisle's thoughts were the only ones I could focus on. My first few days, I couldn't think beyond the burn in my throat."

"That's why Carlisle realised you could read minds before you did?" I nod. "And why you've always avoided describing your experience."

"Yes."

"You think it was worse for you than for the others?"

The amusement that question inspires is a welcome reprieve from my dark memories, so I go with it, giving her a crooked smile. " _I_ think so. Esme and Emmett had their love for Carlisle and Rosalie—" _and their belief that they were burning in Hell for their sins_ —"and Rosalie had her thirst for vengeance." Bella's absorption in my answer is the only thing that keeps me talking; now _she_ is the one whose penetrating gaze has the power to charm the truth from my unwilling lips. "If I hadn't been able to hear Carlisle's thoughts, if he hadn't been able to use them to control me, I might've become too wild to be controlled."

"That's why you were so worried about Renesmee."

I nod, hoping she'll let it go, but I can't ignore the undiminished curiosity burning in her eyes. "Ask me anything," I murmur, though I wish I knew what she has in mind. (My only solace is that I'm no longer at risk of filling her mind with unhelpful thoughts or worries about her own ability to cope.)

She hesitates for a split second, then says, "Why did Carlisle feel the need to recreate the injuries he suffered? Didn't he realise it was working from the very first bite?"

I shake my head, trying to follow Bella's example and recall the change without dwelling on the pain. "The pain woke me, but I was too weak to move, unable even to cry out, and his efforts to limit his direct exposure to my blood meant that not as much venom entered my system, prolonging the process considerably."

" _Considerably?_ "

"Four days."

She shudders. "But your experience meant he knew what to do for Esme?"

I nod. "Her transformation took three days. I didn't think about using a syringe until you," I murmur, more than a little wistful.

"There wasn't the time to plan for the others'," she reminds me.

"True," I agree, immediately comforted.

Remembering my task, I return to stripping off the deer's hide. When Bella doesn't continue the conversation, I try a 'joke' to encourage her to speak more of her thoughts. "Was that your only question?"

She laughs. "No. I like watching you work. When I could see everything, I assumed you'd still look skilled, but I didn't expect you to still look _fast_."

"Well, I _am_ hurrying."

"You'd go slower if we were already home?"

"Maybe."

She laughs again, filling my ears with glorious music.

As soon as I'm done, Bella encourages me to lead the way; but then she sets a swift pace—not pushing me to my limit, but close.

"I still can't believe how _clear_ everything is," she remarks as we run, gesturing into the distance. "I can focus on anything I want to, even the _tiniest_ detail! If you said we can see bacteria, I'd believe you—I bet you didn't need a microscope to read those slides!"

I have to laugh, delighted that her unique take on the world hasn't changed a bit. "At close range, we can see the colonies of larger bacterial species."

"What is _close_ now?" she quips. "I can see an ant on a leaf a hundred yards away!"

"Have you tried 'zooming in' on anything you've seen?"

" _Zooming in?_ "

"That ant; can you see what it was doing?"

She gasps. "How is that possible?"

"Our minds catalogue everything we see down to the finest scale, even if we weren't looking that closely at the time."

"No wonder human memories are so hazy," she remarks, raising an interesting point. "Even recording all that, our minds never get full?"

"There's no evidence to the contrary. We _are_ supernatural beings—although I'm not sure I believe that anymore. It could all be a matter of scale. Who's to say, at quantum scale, there are _any_ bounds to reality?"

While she ponders that, I feel a flicker in my mind that distinctly reminds me of the 'nudge' Alice sometimes gets before a big vision. I might be imagining it, but it feels like Renesmee's mind—yet we are over twenty miles from home.

Because we're moving so fast, I only get a few seconds to analyse the feeling before there's no doubt that it's Renesmee—and then, half a minute later, her crystal-clear thoughts are suddenly there in my mind, without any effort on my part. Indeed, her thoughts and feelings flow through me so smoothly (unlike Renée's telepathic yelling, which _demands_ my attention), that it is as though her mind is an extension of mine. But it's possible I'm imagining that aspect—overlaying other experiences onto this strange new feeling—because it feels just like the telepathic link between the wolves' minds (except for it only going one way).

After I share this news with Bella, she initially smiles. Then her expression closes down, leaving me struggling to guess what she's thinking. I want to ask her; but do I really want to know?

We run in silence for almost a whole minute, gazing into each other's eyes, and then Bella unexpectedly offers up her thoughts. "Is it hypocritical," she asks a little ruefully, "that I'm _glad_ you can hear her thoughts so strongly?"

The question is so unexpected—and so welcome—that I find myself laughing. "Probably," I blurt, only realising after the word is out of my mouth that it's not the joke I'd intended it to be. "But Renesmee wouldn't think so."

"What's she doing now?" she asks.

"She's in Rosalie's arms, playing with a little wooden toy—" it's actually a wolf that Jacob carved for our daughter, but I can't explain that yet—"while they wait for us to arrive."

"They know we're on the way?"

"Yes; Alice still can't see around Renesmee, but she only has to go a few hundred yards away to start getting visions again. She hasn't told them about the humans."

Bella cringes. "Did she see—? No, don't tell me."

"She always saw you stopping; there was no other version." Bella doesn't seem convinced, so I try making another joke. "You never even tried to attack me."

She frowns in sudden anger, clearly not appreciating the wonder of that. "I looked straight at you," she laments, "and I didn't _see_ you. _I couldn't see you_ —in that moment, I wasn't myself. I was a monster."

I shake my head, trying to stall while I rack my brains for a valid argument—because it was equally horrifying for me, and yet she is being much too hard on herself. "I know how it feels. In the moment I first caught your scent, my mind went completely blank. But only for a moment. As soon as my mind reengaged, I realised what was happening—and so did you. As soon as you focused on me, you saw me."

"But that was an exceptional moment for you," she argues. "Those humans weren't anything special, and I still flipped out. _I didn't recognise you_."

"You were brand new—you still are."

"How did _your_ first hunt go?"

"I almost killed someone."

" _Really?_ " she says sceptically.

"Carlisle had already taken me out of the city—somewhere deer were more abundant than people—but it was only his thoughts that stopped me from siding with the monster."

"That was a choice."

"Hardly." She snorts softly, and I regret not simply answering that I'd drained half a dozen deer without feeling any respite from the burning need. "Most newborns think of nothing but blood for _months_."

"So Esme and Rosalie and Emmett were different from the start?"

"Actually, yes," I reply, because it won't help to mention the 'accidents' Esme and Emmett both had during their newborn years. "Esme and Emmett fell in love, and Rosalie was all about revenge."

"Are any of the wolves at the house?" she asks anxiously, abruptly ending our debate; I assume the intensifying sound of the river has made her realise just how close we are to home.

"Yes. But, even in human form, they don't smell human."

She screws up her nose in a familiarly adorable gesture of bemusement. "Do they really smell like wet dog?"

"It's something of an extrapolation," I joke. "Wet _horse_ smells like any other animal, but maybe a horse-sized dog would smell that bad."

She gives a soft chuckle, and then shakes her head. "If Alice's complaints are at all valid," she quips, "I doubt it."

"I'll let you debate that one with her."

Instead of smiling, as I'd hoped, she grows serious once more. "Remember my deer farm suggestion?"

"Of course!" I agree, thrilled that _she_ remembers. "We can look into it," I promise (despite anticipating the difficulty of managing the human farmhands' curiosity).

"I'd rather not hunt wild animals," she insists, obviously not satisfied with my level of commitment; "their lives are hard enough without us." Then she grimaces. "If we had a farm, there'd be less risk of anyone stumbling into my kill zone."

I shake my head. "Only Carlisle could've done what you just did. You remember who you are, even when hunting. I _know_ you couldn't kill a human—and I'm not the only one who sees Carlisle's resolve in you. Esme does, too."

She smiles at that, palpably reassured. "I won't hurt the wolves," she affirms, the familiar determination steeling her voice and expression, "or anyone else."

I wonder if she's thinking specifically of Charlie, but regardless, I applaud the sentiment. To change the subject slightly (and hopefully further reassure her), I tell her that there are four wolves at the house—Seth, Leah, Jacob, and Embry.

She doesn't react when I say Jacob's name, giving me no clue to her feelings at seeing him again. I make it two seconds before I have to ask what she's thinking. She glances at me, then back at our path.

"All these greens _are_ beautiful—I was just too cold to appreciate it before."

I have to smile at that, but I know she's evading the question. "Are you worried about Jacob?"

"A little," she admits with a sigh. "What will he think of me?"

"He'll be forced to admit he was wrong," I say, in lieu of anything that would necessitate revealing that her troublesome best friend has imprinted on our baby—because if the news makes her mad, I want him to see it.

She seems somewhat reassured, so I change the subject again. "Alice has left some clothes for me at the tanning barrels." When she purses her lips, I don't know if it's a reaction to me putting on more clothes, the reminder of Alice's snooping, or the delay it represents. "It's not out of the way," I add, hoping to assure her on at least one potential point of irritation, "and I can change while you put the hides into the barrels."

"Well," she says with a sigh, "I suppose you do need to put more clothes on."


	5. Chapter 5

**Five: Parent**

After the briefest possible stop at the tanning barrels, Bella and I race back to the river. Without having to discuss it, we run right up to the water's edge and leap across side by side. Bella only errs a little on the launch this time, so she is carried barely a yard further towards the house. The moment her feet touch down, she freezes, and then her head snaps back and forth between the two loud heartbeats on the adjacent side of the house and the two inside.

"That's Leah and Embry hiding in the trees," I explain, teasing them gently.

Her eyebrows twitch and Jasper senses surprise alongside her strongest feelings—currently anticipation, frustration, and apprehension. As ever, I want to know what she's thinking; right now, though, my own anticipation makes it fairly easy not to ask.

The glass doors on the first floor are all open, so I give Bella a moment to centre herself, then lead the way inside. Renesmee emits a little squeal of joy as I walk into view, and then she sees Bella and her whole face lights up.

Bella's guarded expression breaks into a breathtaking smile as she marvels at our two-day-old daughter, who is over ten pounds heavier and almost nine inches taller than when she last saw her. When I usher her onwards, she hesitates for a split-second; Jasper feels her impatience, which matches Renesmee's, but she is being careful—alert, as we all are, for the slightest shift in her mood or expression that might signal her amplified newborn emotions are at risk of taking over. I'm not the least bit surprised that there's nothing to see but the powerful love we all feel for Renesmee.

Our daughter, for her part, is gazing equally intently at Bella, thrilled to see her mother awake. It's a little disconcerting just how much our eager little bloodsucker admires the new red eyes, but I tell myself that she only shares _one_ of my reasons for liking the vivid red; she will like Bella's golden eyes, too.

When we are a yard apart, Bella tilts her head to the side and I assume she's realised that the tiny fluttering beat is the sound of Renesmee's unique heart.

Seth (in wolf form for the sake of his pack) gives a soft chuckle that makes Bella's head jerk in his direction. He is a little unnerved by the darting movement, but it's mostly her eyes that make his heart rate increase. She gives him a rueful smile, and he responds with a toothy grin, relaxing once more.

Unlike Jacob, Seth can appreciate Bella's heightened physical attractiveness without also desiring her. He thinks her strong, beautiful soul is now fully on the outside for all to see. The four wolves seeing her through his thoughts also admire her enhanced beauty, though the changes are much subtler than they'd expected; she was almost pale enough to pass for one of us anyway, her luminous skin looked just about as perfect as it does now, and they already knew about the fierceness beneath her quiet exterior. In fact, for Sam in particular, given the drastic physical and emotional changes he and his fellow shape-shifters underwent during their own transformations, it is something of a shock how much the same she is.

Meanwhile, Jacob is struggling to adjust to his undiminished attraction for her. Rey's memories already had him worried about controlling his thoughts around me (despite all his practice at concealing his plans, he has only just begun attempting to curb his feelings around me), and seeing Bella is even more powerful than he'd anticipated. But the lustful thoughts and feelings, though irritating, aren't anything new—and I can't help genuinely enjoying his thought that Rosalie would be consumed with jealousy if she weren't so distracted by Rey. Because Bella is a real-life _Snow White_ —the most beautiful girl in all the land, cursed princesses included.

When Renesmee reaches for her mother, eager to communicate on a deeper level, I pray with every fibre of my being that her gift will not be thwarted as mine is. Bella needs a little encouragement to lean forward, so Rey bursts out, "Mama!"—giving voice to her impatience as confidently as if it were her millionth word instead of her first, and catching us all by surprise.

Bella gasps and freezes, while everyone else immediately praises Renesmee. I hold out my hands for our precious daughter, and Rosalie actually yields without complaint. Rey giggles and lunges towards me, so I give her a brief cuddle, then lift her up to reach Bella's cheek.

The moment their skin connects, Renesmee replays her precious memory of her mother from immediately after her birth, suffused with all the love she feels for us both and the joy she's feeling at our return.

Bella's eyes go wide and her already-intense emotions swell, reflecting and mimicking Rey's strongest feelings—instantly confirming she isn't impervious to our daughter's special gift.

"Renesmee can project her thoughts through her hands," I confirm (to the consternation of our family, who expected me to forewarn Bella). "She's showing you that she knows who you are."

Bella's eyes widen even further, perhaps taken aback by our infant daughter's flawless understanding not only of my explanation but also of her own skills, and then she beams at her. "I love you so much!"

Rey echoes the sentiment, raising her other hand so she can run both hands across Bella's face. Bella strokes a couple of fingers carefully through Rey's glossy curls, utterly entranced by her thoughts. She doesn't seem to care that our family is clustering even more tightly around them, forgetting, in their protectiveness of Rey, to give our _other_ newborn a little space.

To remind them that this moment is about Bella and Renesmee, I turn my body ever so slightly, forcing the circle to expand, while Rey starts bombarding Bella with highlights from her life so far—meeting everyone in our family, playing Scrabble, examining Jasper's unique scars, watching Jacob and Seth phase from wolf to human and back again, playing with my hair, reading with Rosalie and Esme, dressing up in every sort of clothing imaginable, 'wrestling' with Emmett, learning Spanish with Jasper… and drinking Jacob's blood.

I immediately take a step back, breaking the connection between them. Bella freezes automatically, though she is amazingly calm and actually a little confused, in place of the momentary shock the memory had evoked. Rey doesn't resist either, though she also doesn't understand what's wrong.

"She was remembering… drinking blood," I explain tentatively.

Bella's lack of reaction quashes the nascent idea that she can't see all of Rey's thoughts. Apparently, she doesn't understand why it worried me because the memory hadn't increased her thirst!

"There's obviously nothing wrong," I say, chuckling as I retake my place by my amazing wife.

Jasper exhales sharply, struggling to reconcile Bella's newness with her complete lack of thirst-driven insanity. No longer torn between anxiety at my "overconfidence" and shame when comparing Bella's incredible composure with his own "weakness", he flees outside and across the river before I can stop him.

Alice doesn't need her gift to know what's upset him. She gives Renesmee a reassuring kiss on the head, then dashes off after him.

Bella looks to me, nodding to second Rey's desire to know what's wrong.

"Jasper is a little embarrassed," I explain. "He's worried about self-fulfilling prophecies— _making_ something true because you think it is," I add, for Rey's sake. "If he'd expected more of himself, would he have gained better control of his thirst?"

Bella shakes her head. "He can't compare the two of us—my experience is unique."

"Alice is telling him that," I assure her. "When he comes home, we can, too."

She smiles, but if she intended to answer, she is interrupted by Jacob moving to take the space left by Jasper and Alice, his hand already part-raised towards Rey's nearest hand.

"Jacob?" Bella says slowly, enunciating each syllable with care, which makes her sound angry. I can't help enjoying his sudden anxiety; her face is blank, so he can't tell how she's really feeling.

"Hey, Bella," he replies nervously, wisely hesitating while he is still out of easy reach. "How ya feeling?"

"Good. You?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he replies, immediately relaxing as the anxiety morphs into amusement at the monumental understatement, which he assumes is true for Bella, too.

She is clearly confused by his genuine cheer, or perhaps it is the way his eyes keep reverting to our daughter that doesn't make sense. "Don't take this the wrong way," she says, still speaking more slowly than necessary (I spare a glance—and a grin—for Seth, who also finds it amusing), "but why are you here?"

While Jacob launches into the speech he has been preparing almost since he imprinted—about all of _their_ problems being solved (because, thanks to Rey, he has fully embraced Bella becoming a vampire)—Rey shows Bella what _she_ thinks about it. She actually replays the moment Jacob imprinted, because he has told her that the instant their eyes met, he knew she was the most special person in the whole world. I don't like the attachment she already feels for him in return, but her enjoyment of his blood is so bound up in it that it isn't really any stronger than her feelings for the rest of her family, and certainly not stronger than her love for Bella or Jasper or me.

Bella doesn't move for the entirety of Jacob's speech—a full 43 seconds. Without Jasper, I am as clueless as the others as to her emotional state. And then, after a second that feels like ten years, she laughs.

"Ironic," she quips.

Jacob grins. "Tell me about it. My soul—"

"Stop," she interrupts sharply. "That subject is off limits for the foreseeable future."

While Jacob swears he's on his best behaviour (as if that means anything), Rey tries to comfort her mother by offering to share his blood.

"Thank you," Bella replies, at a more naturally human pace, before making a face. "I don't know if I'm tempted or not."

"Let's go with _not_ ," Jacob jokes, after Rey shares her idea; he knows that Seth has already offered me his blood, but he wouldn't want anyone to make Bella the same offer for at least a decade.

Bella grins without taking her eyes off Renesmee.

" _I_ didn't get that offer," I tease, liking the idea of Rey telling Jacob to share his blood with me, but she immediately thinks of Seth—that I can have _his_ blood—even though she doesn't know of Seth's offer.

Bella laughs. "I'm out of it for three days—"

"Two days," I correct, realising I've neglected to mention that.

Her eyes widen, and then she looks at Renesmee with new awareness. For a split second, she looks fearful, but Rey is asking her to go on, so she hides her concern; she even manages to recapture the amused tone she'd been using. " _Two_ days, and you're already hooking up with Seth?"

 _She says that like it's news_ , Seth jokes, while I remark that Renesmee's similar sense of taste made me curious.

"Because you weren't already," Bella quips.

I give her a grin, and then change the subject. "While we're on the subject of Seth, he'd like to thank you for waking up today and not tomorrow—although he would've liked more than one day off school."

She laughs again at that, and Rey giggles with her; she enjoys Seth's complaints about school as much now as she had before she'd understood them.

"I'm with Sue," Bella tells him unapologetically. "School is important. And isn't it better that it's the weekend _now_?"

Seth tilts his head expectantly. _Only if I can stay?_

"Of course you can stay," I tell him, knowing Jacob will expect to stay, too—but that seems inevitable now. "I might even cook you something if Rey's interested."

Rey doesn't know why I think my cooking would interest her—as far as she's concerned, food is _blood_ ; anything else is a silly concept.

Bella chuckles at her bemusement. "Your daddy is _amazing_ in the kitchen."

While Rey immediately thinks of her mother's and Jacob's blood—because _nothing_ could be better than that—Emmett teases me that my cooking is obviously more pleasurable _and_ memorable than my lovemaking.

 _Clearly_ , he taunts, _all you did this morning was 'hunt' easy prey and play with each other's hair_ , making a joke in reference to Bella's new 'do and my somewhat rumpled locks.

It would be easier to ignore him if Rosalie and even Esme weren't thinking along similar lines. Before he comes up with a sexually _implicit_ taunt he thinks he can get away with saying in front of the baby, I tilt my head in his direction. "Feel like showing Emmett he's currently not the strongest Cullen?" I ask my extraordinary wife.

"You _wish_!" Emmett cries, as eager as always for a physical contest—in stark contrast to the others' guarded responses.

Despite Bella's incredible self-possession, an hour-old newborn having the mental capacity to arm-wrestle still seems ludicrous. Esme in particular worries that it's too soon—that Bella's unfamiliar, violent instincts will turn the contest into a real battle—but she trusts Bella almost as much as she trusts that I'm not being reckless. (Her thoughts make me even more grateful to Alice for her discretion; if Esme knew how careless I'd been on Bella's first hunt, she would intercede this instant.)

Bella doesn't show any sign of having noticed their apprehension; she is grinning with Rey at her memories of Emmett and Jasper arm-wrestling while they waited for our return. (Unsurprisingly, Emmett won every time, even when Jasper tried to cheat.)

Emmett waits until the parade of his victories is complete, then waggles an eyebrow at Bella. "Are you ready _now_ , or would you like a minute?"

"Are _you_ ready to lose?" Bella shoots back.

"Lose _what_?" he taunts. "You're not a _real_ newborn."

A frown flashes across her face, and I wonder if the jibe touched a nerve. Does she doubt her strength because of her incredible self-control?

"He's got no chance," I promise her, and Rey seconds me heartily, picturing Bella effortlessly pinning Emmett's hand to the rock while he struggles and complains just as Jasper had whenever Emmett didn't let go immediately.

Emmett sticks out his tongue at the "little traitor", which makes her giggle and respond in kind; then he gestures for us to follow him outside to the 'arena' he prepared earlier. The large rock is already sporting several gouges from his battles with Jasper, but the surface is still sufficiently smooth.

As Emmett and Bella take their positions, I'm intrigued by the thoughts of the others, who (Esme and Seth excepted) can't help doubting her chances of winning. For me, the size differential is nothing compared to the steel in Bella's eyes. No trace of the misleading softness of her human body remains; this new body is as strong as her will has always been—which is to say, she is a newborn in strength only.

Emmett can see it, too, and although it takes him a little by surprise, it doesn't affect his confidence. He can't wait to test his might against hers. "Don't hold back, little sister," he teases, deliberately using the diminutive term.

"You might want me to," she retorts, seemingly undaunted.

He laughs and then places his elbow on the rock and waves her forward with an exaggerated curl of the hand. Her eyes follow the line of his thick bicep, betraying her nerves, and Emmett considers reminding her of their deal before deciding not to risk it giving her extra incentive.

She takes a little breath as she sets her elbow against the stone, then another as he wraps his big hand around hers.

"You can still change your mind," he teases as he tries to lock eyes with her; he's never _needed_ the extra psychological advantage in the past, but staring down your opponent is an important element of the contest—and half the fun of it.

But Bella simply gives a little shake of the head without taking her eyes off their hands. "One, two—"

"Three," he grunts, interrupting in the same instant that he shoves against her hand with all his might.

But nothing happens. If the others couldn't see the heavy frown on Emmett's face, they wouldn't realise the match had already begun in earnest. Bella's expression, her pose, even her arm show no sign that she is holding back the force of a runaway freight train. She is utterly incredible.

Emmett pushes harder, calling up every last ounce of power inside him, but it makes no difference. He can't move her a millimetre. The realisation stuns him. He thought he knew what to expect, but Victoria's newborns didn't have a tenth of Bella's discipline.

After a second, Bella suddenly flexes her arm and Emmet loses an inch and three quarters. She laughs delightedly, while he marvels at the raw power in her arm. He finds the rush it inspires distracting, but fights to hold his concentration. He feels like he's seeing Bella for the first time; for so many months, she'd been the fearless girl whose clumsiness was a constant source of entertainment. There is nothing clumsy about her now. Although he'd expected her to take to this life at least as quickly as he had, he'd never thought about the specifics. He'd never believed she would be able to beat him, and he'd never seen her as physically attractive—until now.

His complicated feelings are startling, amusing, and infuriating all at once. I'm a split-second away from issuing a warning growl when Bella flexes again. This time, she gains two and a half inches.

"No jokes," she says firmly, reaffirming their deal without any prompting. "No allusions. No innuendos. No nothing."

And then she smashes his hand deep into the boulder. The deafening crack of the impact echoes off the trees. After she pulls her hand free, Emmett yanks his arm out through the rock, which was already fracturing.

Bella and Renesmee laugh as the rubble crashes to the ground at Bella's feet, and after a moment, I do, too. As unexpected and irritating as Emmett's internal struggle is, it's not as though I don't understand it—and my overriding sense of joy makes it impossible to feel angry for long.

Everyone else is too stunned to laugh. The wolves are shocked by Bella's strength—even Seth is a little taken aback—and the others are astonished by the one-sided nature of the contest.

Bella grins at Rey and me, then experimentally pushes a toe into the nearest shard of rock; her foot sinks through the hard stone like it's jelly. She laughs and then thrusts both hands into what's left of the rock, twisting her arms and making a cacophony of screeches as she drills deeper. The pure delight on her face warms my heart—she deserves to be this happy.

It feels all too familiar when Jacob's thoughts interfere with my enjoyment of this moment, despite the newly settled bent of his mind. He knows that, if he hadn't already imprinted, seeing Bella like this would make him long for her even more—but "having someone better" enables him to enjoy Bella's happiness without any accompanying heartache.

When I flash him a glare, he inexplicably assumes that I'm objecting to Rey being "better" than Bella, not the infuriating implication that our daughter is in any way _his_. Next time Rey goes to sleep, I'm correcting him—and when I do, I don't think I'll be the one throwing him out.

Bella distracts me from the pleasant thought of her hurling Jacob halfway back to La Push when she suddenly pulls her hands up through the shattered surface of the rock. Several pieces fly out in all directions, and she hastily apologises even as Carlisle catches the only one that might've hit one of us.

Rey giggles and holds out her hand for her "funny" mother. Bella grins at her, then joins us as the tight huddle around Renesmee reforms. She takes Rey's hand and replies to her congratulatory thoughts as though it's the most natural thing in the world, as unassuming as ever after effortlessly defeating one of the strongest vampires in the world.

While watching Rey's response, Bella finally seems to notice that Emmett is still standing by the shattered rock, staring wide-eyed at her. "I didn't _mean_ to hold back," she says, answering Rey's thoughts as much as the others' obvious awe, and sounding more than a little surprised herself, "but that was _easy_."

When Emmett doesn't counter with some cheeky retort, Bella tenses. I presume she's concerned about hurting his feelings; surely she'd never guess the real reason for his uncharacteristic silence. Before _Rosalie_ guesses it—or I tell her—Emmett pulls himself together and wisely departs.

Bella turns to me. "I didn't mean to be a sore winner…"

"You weren't," I assure her, but my voice comes out a little rougher than I'd intended as her automatic, undeserved assumption of blame stokes my irritation with both Emmett and Jacob.

Rosalie growls, her suspicions confirmed, and races off after her flustered mate.

"What is it?" Bella asks innocently.

The others are just as curious—and just as bemused. For my own and Bella's sakes, I don't especially want to explain (right now, I don't care that the answer would violate Emmett's privacy), so I'm inclined to say I'll tell her later. But my hesitancy is making them jump to all sorts of conclusions, and Jacob and the wolves are well on the way to figuring it out. "Your beating him so effortlessly was unexpectedly thrilling," I murmur, trying to be subtle for Rey's sake. (For the first time, her insatiable curiosity scares me: for how long can we protect her from 'adult' matters?)

Bella's eyes widen before immediately narrowing, and she scowls in the direction in which Jasper and Alice had departed earlier. "It's all Alice's fault," she rants, gesturing to her dress.

Her adorable lack of self-awareness chases away the lingering irritation even more effectively than Emmett's stuttering efforts to defend himself to his infuriated mate. "The dress is a factor," I allow, because there's no denying it showcases every inch of her gorgeous body, "but it was irrelevant in this case."

She purses her lips, clearly irritated, but I'm reasonably confident she's not annoyed with _me_ ; then her expression turns questioning. " _You_ aren't mad at him?"

"I _am_ ," I counter. "But I can forgive him today—until he asks for a rematch." That earns me a smile, but Jacob's thoughts incite me to add, "I don't think I'll ever get used to it, though."

"With _Emmett_?" she blurts, clearly (and understandably) horrified.

"No, I mean in general—you'll attract at least as much attention as Rosalie."

"Why?" she asks, adorably mystified.

"You are the most enchanting creature anyone will ever see."

She scoffs at that, but seems pleased when Esme nods to second my claim—and then she tucks her head self-consciously when Seth nods, too. But the shyness only wins for a moment. "That _can't_ be true," she jokes. "Renesmee is."

When Rey giggles, this time, everyone joins in.

Esme dares to rest a hand lightly on Bella's arm, seeking a closer connection to her beloved daughter despite her awareness that most newborns would not appreciate the contact. "You are incredible, Bella."

Bella's only reaction is to smile. "I _feel_ incredible," she agrees artlessly. "And yet, I feel more like myself than I'd ever expected," she adds, in typical, self-effacing style. "Maybe because I was physically and mentally ready at the start of the change."

"How did it feel?" Carlisle asks eagerly, taking the tangential comment as an invitation to ask about her experience; he is impatient to know how the drugs and my novel mode of venom delivery affected her perception of the change.

Bella's eyes dart from him to me to Renesmee, who is listening expectantly for her reply—not because she particularly cares about the conversation, but because she is eager to hear more of her mother's voice. That wordless encouragement seems to convince Bella to answer. "I could feel the drugs in my system," she says carefully, "but I felt the venom, too, spreading much faster."

Even though Rey doesn't understand—because we haven't given her any details about the transformation—she listens without interrupting, cognisant of the more sombre mood. Neither Carlisle nor Esme can decide if Bella's experience sounds better or worse than their own, but I suspect that it's much worse. I feel fresh awe for her self-control in restricting her screams to quiet whimpers that no one but me heard.

"Could you still feel the drugs after the venom had spread?" I ask, wondering if there's a connection with the point at which she stopped whimpering.

She nods. "I was trying to concentrate, and then I realised I couldn't feel your touch, even though I could still feel—" she pauses, either searching for a description that won't upset anyone or struggling to explain it in words. Although I'm impatient to know, what she has already said is thought-provoking enough. Had she not felt me changing her clothes? Then she adds, "The morphine paralysed me."

The horror of this news shatters my composure—because of me, her transformation had been infinitely worse! "I'm so sorry!" I burst out, alarming everyone. I grit my teeth to keep any further outburst in check, my guilt at having made every facet of Bella's experience worse vying with guilt for upsetting everyone now, and especially for causing Carlisle fresh pain (in the past, I have lied about the 'discomfort' of that aspect of my transformation in comparison with the others').

"You couldn't move either!" Bella exclaims, sounding oddly delighted; I suppose it pleases her that our experiences were more similar than either of us had expected. For myself, I am ashamed, but relieved and grateful for her… the closest word I can come up with is _appreciation_ , because it eases our family's distress (especially Rey's), not to mention my own.

I kiss the top of Rey's head and murmur an apology, which she counters with an especially strong wave of love to comfort _me_ , stroking my cheek with her little fingers. I can't _not_ smile, and she joyfully claims the success.

Bella smiles, too. "You did everything _just right_ ," she insists, giving me as much credit as she always has (whether or not I deserve it). "I wasn't afraid. I knew you were there—so I _couldn't_ be on fire. Because if I were, you would have put it out."

I feel a powerful swell of love for the trust she'd placed in me. I want to kiss her, but I hold myself in check, using Rey's thoughts to refocus my own; her attention is currently focused on Bella's reference to being _on fire,_ wondering what it means—outside of illustrations, she has only seen (and, of course, _touched_ ) a small candle flame, so she can't conceive of it as a bad thing.

"I'm _glad_ ," Bella goes on, "I went through what you all did—I would've felt like a cheat if I'd just gone to sleep human and woken up a vampire."

None of us knows how to respond to that—except Seth, of course, who gives a snorting chuckle. Bella chuckles, too, and then reaches towards my face, perhaps to stroke the frown from my brow.

She pauses when her fingertips are an inch away. "I could hear your voice," she murmurs, her tone thankful. "I couldn't follow what you were saying, but I knew you were happy." She grins at my guilty twitch, and I'm not only grateful she's so willing to forgive me for selfishly taking pleasure from her agonising transformation, but also comforted and relieved that it had actually helped. "Your humming helped almost as much as Renesmee's _giggling_ ," she adds, moving her hand to stroke our daughter's upraised cheek.

Renesmee is thrilled, and when she asks if she heard her xylophone playing, too, I remind myself that extra time with our daughter had been worth taking the risk of intensifying Bella's suffering—and gaining a whole extra day was a decent trade.

"I'm glad you made a xylophone rather than a crossbow," Bella remarks as we head inside, and I'm pleased that she'd heard Emmett's proposal—maybe she'd been able to follow more of our conversations than I'd expected.

Rey agrees; Emmett's crossbow had sounded boring, with its _one_ 'key' compared to her xylophone's 42. After showing off the special two-pronged mallet we made, our little prodigy rattles off her favourite scale (D major) and a couple of her favourite little exercises—the showiest ones, to best showcase her talent. Then she decides she'd like to play the tune I've hummed most frequently—Bella's lullaby. She asks me to help, with the notes and the performance, but she's a quick learner and already displaying her father's talent for music, so she only needs a few instructions to get the hang of recreating the main melody on the xylophone.

Bella listens in awe for over a minute, and then she bursts into a triumphant smile. I think I know what she's thinking—that Rey is exactly as perfect as she'd known she would be. I smile, too, but our focus quickly changes as we gaze into each other's eyes. I am the luckiest creature in existence.

When I stop playing, Rey insists I keep going, and then she starts branching out (thinking I'm getting bored), trying out other melodies. But she isn't really satisfied with any of the new ideas, so she gives me her mallet and snuggles into Bella's arms. Unable to resist showing off, I use the two-headed mallet in addition to my own two mallets to play an embellished version of Saint-Saëns's Volière (the Aviary). It is thrilling to have their attention, but I'm glad I chose such a short piece; after accepting their praise, I switch to a quieter, less distracting melody so that Bella and Rey can concentrate on each other.

Rey wants to know absolutely everything about her mother, and I'm glad I already shared my sanitised version of our past with Bella when Rey starts asking her questions about it. Bella gives such in-depth answers, carefully filtered for a young mind (which she is innately better at than I), that I am every bit as captivated as Rey. Carlisle and Esme feel equally privileged to hear them, too, making it easy for Carlisle not to interrupt when it's time to measure Renesmee again (in any case, a visual estimate is enough to confirm that she's still growing many times faster than a human baby).

Eventually, our half-human daughter wears herself out. The first sign is the fewer questions; then her thoughts begin to blur around the edges. "Sweet dreams, my lovely," I murmur, and she yawns widely then closes her eyes (adorably, she surrenders so quickly because she thinks that the sooner she goes to sleep, the sooner she'll wake up).

Bella smiles down at her, and then her mouth falls open as Rey's dream-thoughts begin. She looks up at me, eyes shining.

"She's _dreaming_ ," she breathes, awestruck. "Can we see everything you see?"

I nod, resisting the urge to remind her that I can't be certain of that in _her_ case. "I'm sorry you missed the water rainbows—we'll have to ask her to show you."

"She remembers her dreams?"

"Most of them, some more clearly than others. Some she only remembers a scene or two from, but she has a few repeated dreams that get clearer and clearer, even though she doesn't really remember dreaming of them before, like they're only stored once—the most recent dream overwrites the earlier one."

She grins at the analogy, then gazes down at our precious daughter, who is currently dreaming of a xylophone with multiple rows of keys, so she can play half a dozen notes at once (without ever creating a discordant harmony). "She's even more perfect than I could imagine."

"Even _I_ couldn't imagine her," I remark, "and I was picturing a girl."

"Because you were afraid a boy would be more like _you_ ," she teases without looking up. " _As if that's a bad thing!_ "

Esme and Carlisle chuckle, while Jacob suddenly wonders if he would've imprinted on our son. The thought makes him shudder. I can't help thinking he wouldn't have (but I don't wish for a microsecond that we had a son instead). And yet, if the boy had had Bella's eyes… I stop that thought before it goes any further—pondering the myriad potential changes and consequences is a pointless exercise, and one that emphasises Jacob's future designs on our baby.

"Adorable," Bella murmurs as Rey's dream shifts to focus on a little family of brown-and-white mice who live in her (imaginary) music box, playing 'mice' songs on the tiny mechanism.

"That's one of her recurring dreams—although there are more mice every time."

Rey's multiplying dream-mice make me smile, but the underlying implication seems to set off Bella's newborn urges, for her eyes suddenly flash with heat.

I don't think I need to read her mind to know what's uppermost in her thoughts now, and then she confirms it by offering our slumbering daughter to her grandmother. After carefully passing Rey into Esme's willing arms, she tips her head towards the nearest exit.

We move together, traversing the room and bolting outside in almost perfect synchrony. She laughs as we cross the clearing, but the sound cuts off abruptly the instant she looks up.

I know what she is seeing. The night sky is full of stars; despite the all but ever-present blanket of cloud, she'll still be able to see their twinkling points of light. Even the craters on the cloud-swathed moon, which is still almost full, will be visible to her new eyes.

"I can see _everything_ ," she breathes.

I can only marvel as she leaps across the river without once taking her gaze off the sky. Then her eyes lock on mine, and my plan to hunt first is forgotten as our passions overtake us both. She tackles me gracefully, sending us veering off course with only the slightest lurch, and then my back is pressed against a moss-covered tree trunk and my arms are full of my beautiful wife.

I can still hear the others' thoughts, but they've never been easier to ignore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six: Hunter**

Although Bella catches her own deer this time, I follow my earlier tactic and take down two. She actually smiles at me as she swaps from the drained carcass to the fresh one, but I wait until she has completely finished before standing up. When I do, her eyes immediately fix on me, but there is no threat in them—only a hunger that makes my whole body tingle in anticipation.

She stands and strips off her dress in the same movement, traversing the ten yards between us in a flash. My hands forget the task of unfastening my trousers and reach for her. She giggles as I pull her against me with all my strength, uniting our lips with an urgency that proves my impatience.

As we kiss, she caresses my face, my hair, my neck, my shoulders. I run my hands all over her back, revelling in the feel of her naked body. But as wonderful as this is, I still want more; the way her nails dig into my skin here and there implies she's equally enthusiastic. And then she places her hands across my clavicles, splays her fingers, and drags them down _through_ my shirt, shredding it into a dozen strips and making me groan with need.

She hums softly, gratified by my response, then shifts us to the ground—without breaking our kiss—and stretches out atop me, draping one arm across my right shoulder and one leg over my left knee. Thanks to her newborn strength, I am completely pinned to the ground. It is intensely erotic, and I am propelled to the edge of climax even before she rips apart my trousers and unites our bodies.

When I cry out, she obviously hears the passion in my voice, for she gives a deliberate twist-and-thrust of her hips that sends me over the edge in a wave of pure ecstasy. Distantly, I hear her crying out with me, and then her lips are on me again, kissing my neck, sliding along my jaw. My attention splits further as she shifts herself into a position we haven't yet employed since she became immortal, then initiates a more complex rhythm—all the while still pinning me to the ground.

Her touch is electric and her gorgeous moans resonate deep inside me, setting my nerves on fire in the most exquisite way. When I find myself having a little more freedom to move, I wish I could use her thoughts to guide my actions. But there's no doubt she's enjoying herself as thoroughly as I am, so it's easy to remind myself that she prefers it this way.

Despite taking a little more time to revel in the glorious sensations, our next orgasms quickly follow. This time, in the proceeding tranquillity, Bella stills. One of my hands is cupping her cheek, and she lets her head rest against it. I hold her face to mine, not wanting to move a millimetre.

As a little more of my wits return, I wonder if it's sexier that she doesn't realise she'd been restraining me or if I want her to deliberately hold me down. My focus right now, though, is on not breaking the seal between our lips. It gives me a particular thrill that her lips not only feel soft against mine, but _warm_ , too, now that we are the same temperature.

Bella kisses me languidly, sliding her tongue along my bottom lip, but when I try to up the pace once more, she sits up a little and shifts her hands to cup my face. "Edward?" she murmurs, sending a fresh thrill through me; if she weren't holding my head in place, I would have pressed forward before my brain caught up with my body. "Do you miss my extra warmth?"

"Honestly," I murmur slowly, while my brain reengages with my mouth, "there's only one thing I miss, and everything I've gained more than makes up for it."

"What?" she asks intently, sitting all the way up, and I regret not answering her directly.

"Your heartbeat."

She smiles tenderly, relaxing immediately, though she resists when I try gently encouraging her to lie back down. "I miss that, too," she agrees. Then she looks at her left thigh and taps her finger along an imaginary line curving from mid-thigh to just above her knee. "I miss the freckles that were here. I liked the pattern they made; they were my own special constellation."

"Me, too." An idea springs to mind, so I reach across to my trousers and retrieve the little space pen I always carry with me. She giggles as I begin drawing the five freckles where they'd been, matching the size and shape as best I can in this comparatively rough medium. The ink won't last long—a few hours at best—but we can always reapply it whenever she's feeling nostalgic.

Thinking about these changes in her body reminds me of a question I have for her—one I've not dared ask before. "Did you ever wish _I_ had a heartbeat?"

She laughs—hopefully because the question is so unexpected—and then strokes my cheek. "Why would I?" she counters earnestly. "You are utterly perfect. I didn't miss anything."

I don't want to interrupt her, but I can't stop myself from silencing her with a kiss. She responds as willingly as ever, with all the passion of a newborn, and I am instantly lost.

Even after she murmurs sultrily, "I remember," all I can think is that I can barely remember my own name. She gives a self-satisfied hum as she waits for my brain to catch up. "I remember," she repeats, "wondering what sex would've been like if you were human—and I _know_ I prefer you a vampire." She laughs delightedly. "You're like Superman, but better."

"I'm real?" I tease (because the other comparisons that come to mind don't favour me).

"You're _mine_ ," she declares, all teasing forgotten as she reclaims my lips and reinitiates the rhythm of our bodies.

At some point, a ray of moonlight bursts through clouds and lights up our heads. I feel more strongly than ever that we've transcended the physical dimension and entered a higher plane of existence. The pleasure inside me peaks in a rush, and then we're crying out together once again.

As our breathing evens out, Bella nuzzles my neck for a moment, before lifting her head to admire the countless rainbows cascading off our skin. "That eighth colour—what is it?"

"We used to just call it ultraviolet, until Emmett named it _mega-violet_."

She grins. "What do others call it?"

"I don't think they care enough to call it anything."

"Weird."

I laugh softly. "To them, _we're_ the weird ones."

"Their loss," she murmurs, leaning in once more—but before our lips meet, the light shifts and the uppermost scar on my arm flashes brilliant white, cutting through the rainbows.

Bella jerks back in surprise, her face twisting with anguish. If she weren't holding my arm, I'd move it out of the light.

"That was _my_ fault," I remind her (as much as I'd love to blame Jacob). "I broke the treaty."

Her expression smooths out, but her remorse is still palpable. She places her hand over the blemish in my granite skin and the rainbows return. "None of the others attacked you."

"True!" I agree, delighted to absolve myself.

She chuckles, seeming to share my sense of release from the guilt, then asks, "Why do most colours look basically the same?"

The question shouldn't surprise me given it relates to our previous topic of conversation, but it catches me off guard. Fortunately, Carlisle and I have discussed the point at length, so answering it doesn't require any thought. "Carlisle and I think it's because our optical system is trained for the spectrum of light visible to humans, so that's what our brains concentrate on. The biggest differences show up at night, and yet we still see _familiar_ colours then, too."

She nods. "Makes sense. And the clarity means ordinary things already look so different. Remembering how they used to look is actually harder than I thought it would be."

"I'm pretty sure it's a lot harder for _normal_ newborns."

She laughs at that, then strokes my cheek, her eyes shining with love and joy. "How does Elizabeth Bennet put it? Even _fifty_ Bingleys couldn't make her as happy as Jane—but then she changes her mind…" Her brow knits in concentration for a split second, then smooths out. "I can't remember," she says lightly.

I know the quotes she's referring to—and I'm torn between being impressed that she remembers so much and not being surprised considering the dozens of times she'd read the book. "It's only _forty_ men," I tease, and she laughs, reinforcing the link to the second quote. " _I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but no one with such justice_. _I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh._ "

She obliges me by laughing again, and her joyous, melodious laughter rings through the trees. "Would you mind watching it one last time with me?"

"I'd watch _Big Brother_ with you."

She thinks for a split second, no doubt trying to place the reference, then lets out another peal of laughter. "Let's _never_ watch that!"

"Music to my ears," I reply, moving to kiss her once more, but she lays a hand over my mouth, so I obediently still.

"Renesmee," she reminds me, and I can hardly argue with that, although it's still difficult not to tighten my grip when she starts to pull out of my arms.

She throws my trousers to me on the way to collect her dress, then stares down at the two fallen deer.

"Shall I get this hide while you start on one of those?" I offer, hoping she'll give herself a chance to practise being gentle.

She bites her lip—a clear signal of nerves and self-consciousness—so I direct my attention to securing my trousers for the trip to the tanning barrels. After dithering for another moment, she kneels down and carefully widens the hole at the deer's neck.

Honouring my side of the bargain I'd proposed, I start stripping the hide from the deer nearest me. Bella is less than halfway through the first hide when I finish mine, so I work more slowly on the third, timing it so that we finish together.

She grins at me, then makes a show of expertly folding up her hide (using my technique) and says, "Race you back!"

She takes off at once, leaving me to snatch up the other hide (which, fortunately, I'd already folded) and sprint after her. I have to drape the unfolded hide over my shoulder and hold it against my chest to minimise drag, and the obstruction means it takes longer to get up to speed.

It is still physically disturbing to have her out of sight, but experiencing something of her strength firsthand seems to have made it a little easier to manage the feeling, to hold the blind panic at bay—because she is more than capable of protecting herself. It helps that, despite declaring a contest, she has settled at a comparatively slow 355 mph, which means I catch up in less than a second.

She laughs when she sees the way I'm carrying the third hide and waggles an eyebrow. "My sexy caveman."

" _Irresistibly_ sexy?" I ask, giving her the crooked smile that had never failed to make her heart react. But although she responds with a sexy smirk of her own—which can only mean _yes_ and makes my unsated desire all but undeniable—she doesn't slow.

When Rey's thoughts reach me seven seconds later, revealing that she's still asleep, I can't resist suggesting more directly that we take our time. "We needn't hurry back—Rey's not awake yet."

"She could wake any moment," Bella counters.

I had anticipated that response, so I console myself with the opportunity it presents. "I suppose I do want to correct Jacob's grossest misassumption—imprinting on Rey doesn't automatically make her his _mate_."

When Bella comes to an immediate halt, hands balled into fists, I'm not completely caught off guard, so I stop less than two yards ahead.

" _He thinks of Rey as his mate?_ " she hisses, and I realise I was a little careless with my wording.

" _Future_ mate," I clarify (though that's scarcely any better). I want to point out that he'd thought of _Bella_ as his girl, too, but I want to ease her rage, not increase it. "He just needs a reminder that _Rey_ decides what he is to her."

"Oh, I'll _remind_ him," she growls, sprinting off again.

This time, I lose sight of her for less than two tenths of a second (though her constant growling tells me exactly where she is). When we reach the tanning barrels, I half expect her to dump the hide on the nearest barrel without pause, but she actually stops and opens two of them, taking charge of all three hides while I change my clothes.

By the time we start running again, she is no longer growling, though her frown is just as heavy. When she stops on the lawn outside the house, I follow suit. Our family is intrigued but not concerned by this variation in procedure, and I find myself wondering whether, if Jasper were here, he would've leapt to the conclusion that Bella had made her first "slip".

Esme opens the door with a smile, but the moment she sees Bella's murderous expression, she freezes. Her eyes snap to my face, and my composure instantly reassures her. "Bella?" she asks tentatively.

"Send Jacob outside," Bella says menacingly.

Esme gives a little _eep_ and zips out onto the porch, while everyone else stares at Jacob. His mind is already running through all the reasons Bella might be mad at him; he knows there are many, and he'd been expecting me to "rat" on him eventually.

Seth gestures towards the door, but Jacob isn't ready to face Bella's wrath, so Seth goes first, saying, "I'm coming out," just in case Bella is primed to take down the first wolf she sees.

The others follow him, not wanting to miss this either. Jacob hangs back, waiting for Rosalie, too, even though she is holding Renesmee and clearly not going anywhere.

Finally, after she gives a scornful shake of the head, the apprehensive wolf steps into the doorway. "Hey, Bells," he says as cheerfully as he can muster, though his rapid pulse—which spikes when he sees Bella's glower—gives him away.

"Whatever _wolfy claim_ you think you have over Renesmee," she growls, "think again." Jacob's face goes blank with astonishment; this issue hadn't crossed his mind for a second (because, to him, it's _fact_ ). "She's _not_ your mate—she's a _baby_. And when she's older, _she'll_ decide who she wants to be with."

He doesn't know what to say; all he can think is that _of course_ he doesn't think of Rey _that way_ —so he blames me for either misinterpreting or wilfully misrepresenting his thoughts.

"She's not yours," I tell him, making the point as plainly as possible, and yet he still doesn't think he has ever thought that. "You're fooling yourself—you started thinking like that within minutes of imprinting."

"Not like _that!_ " he argues hotly, making the distinction between _romantic_ feelings and "other" feelings. "If she's _my_ soulmate, then _I'm_ —"

At Bella's wordless snarl, he wisely shuts his mouth, but he goes on insisting in his thoughts that, although he "understands" our discomfort in this unusual situation, it doesn't change the fact that he _is_ Rey's soulmate.

"Leave," I snap, letting my own anger show.

He stays his ground for a moment, loath to leave Rey, but after glancing between the two of us, he accepts that there's no "reasoning" with us in our current mood and takes off, giving Bella a wide birth. As he considers whether to phase or not, he asks me to call when Rey wants more blood.

His thoughts touch on her "need" for him as much as they did before, proving that our complaints haven't made an ounce of difference. Given how long it took him to let Bella go, I can only hope he gets it through his head by the time Rey is old enough to be interested in romance… Not that I know what "old enough" is. However young or old she is, I have no doubt I won't be ready for it, even if she _doesn't_ feel an attraction for Jacob. That thought (or, rather, its converse) makes me shudder, so I do my best to suppress it by focusing on Rey's random dream-thoughts as I follow Bella inside. She fell asleep clutching a lock of Rosalie's hair, and she's currently dreaming about playing in it; the dream-hair is many times longer than its real-life counterpart, and she's having a ball wrapping herself up in the silky-smooth strands.

Perhaps wanting to settle her temper first, Bella doesn't immediately go to Renesmee. Instead, she pauses by Rey's orchid, which is now sitting on the coffee table. Even in the diffuse light, its fluorescent petals gleam with streaks of 'mega-violet' for guiding a pollinator to its target. Bella strokes the largest petal, ghosting her fingertips across its sparkling surface. "Everything is so much more beautiful than I ever imagined."

Although Emmett is over his self-conscious for behaving badly earlier, he "atones" for it now by not teasing Bella for caring about _flowers_ right now—because blood and sex should be occupying whatever scant attention Rey hasn't claimed. He wants to tease me, too (that I mustn't be doing it right), but to make amends, he doesn't mock me directly and averts his thoughts from concocting any further taunts. He even tries not to dwell on his smugness (because Bella's interest in flowers "proves" that our passions are so much less than his and Rosalie's).

Esme nods in agreement with Bella; that had been her overriding feeling, too, and still is. She is about to offer a description of her favourite fluorescent creatures (mantis shrimps) when Bella speaks again.

"Have Jasper and Alice been back?"

Emmett lets out a half-repressed snort, just barely catching himself before he laughs loudly enough to wake Renesmee. "It might matter if you stayed away more than ten minutes," he teases, exaggerating the shortness of our excursion. "Rose and _I_ only got back a minute ago!"

Esme tuts. "You got back _seven_ minutes ago," she corrects, to which Emmett rolls his eyes. "Ignore him, Bella," she goes on, "and don't worry about Jasper. He'll come home soon, and I'm sure he'll be much happier."

"I hope so," Bella murmurs, not sounding overly hopeful.

Esme rubs Bella's shoulder reassuringly. "He thought he knew everything there is to know about being a vampire," she says, explaining her confidence, "but you've shown him that the bloodlust isn't as central a part of the vampire psyche as he believed."

Bella smiles a very little, then sighs. Her eyes flit across my face, then Rey's, then the rest of our assembled family, but I can't guess at her thoughts. I can't even tell if Esme's perspective has comforted her, or whether she's thinking about Jasper or herself. Maybe she's thinking about Charlie, or Renée—or all of the above and more. When she looks at Carlisle, I wonder if any of my questions will be answered.

"Edward said you've never felt the typical bloodlust," she begins hesitantly, almost but not quite turning the statement into a question; after he nods, she goes on with more confidence. "I was wondering, what effect did tasting human blood have on your thirst?"

"There's no doubt it intensified the physical burn, but I don't think it ever affected my _thirst_. I learned to handle that long before I changed Edward."

"So you didn't feel any sort of frenzy, even with his blood in your _mouth_?"

Carlisle smiles, impressed by Bella's composure. He takes a moment to consider her question as fully as it deserves. "Yes and no; I expected tasting it would have a greater effect, so I was prepared for that. Dealing with the agony of what I'd become was so much harder—in the beginning, my self-loathing was as strong as the thirst. It wasn't until I spent time with the Volturi, until I saw the bloodlust of an immortal child, that I realised I'd never felt so mindless, so solely driven by thirst. That was when I regained my self-respect." He smiles at the memory, though it amuses him now, too, because it pales in significance compared to his latest epiphany. "But thanks to you, Bella, I have found another level of peace altogether. You have single-handedly absolved every moment of doubt and regret I have ever had."

She dips her head, humbled by the praise, and then mumbles, "Edward helped," clearly trying to share credit.

"Yes," Carlisle agrees earnestly. "He has always been a great comfort."

Bella smiles, but it turns into more of a smirk when she looks at me. "Except for those 'rogue' years."

Carlisle laughs softly. "No, indeed, I found comfort in that, too. My son was out there saving lives."

Bella laughs with him, not the least bit surprised by his absolute faith in me. "True."

It's been a long time since I believed unreservedly that _taking_ lives to save lives is a justifiable approach, so I appreciate my family's ongoing understanding and forgiveness. Indeed, I still marvel at the way Carlisle views my 'experiment'—that I was doing something he couldn't—and he had absolute faith that my admirable motivation would never falter.

Emmett, on the other hand, feels no such respect. If Rey weren't asleep, he would've taken this opportunity to tell her everything he could about my "murderous rampage"—and then he thinks of a question even he wouldn't ask in front of her. "Have you asked _Edward_ what it's like to have human blood in your mouth?"

Bella appears unruffled by the question, but I'm not reassured until she quips, "Not since I got pregnant."

Emmett chuckles, pleased that Bella hadn't let me keep that specific topic entirely off limits, then shakes his head. "He lied." I immediately object, so he adds, "Leaving out the good bits is lying."

"I didn't leave anything out."

He snorts. "The only way that's true is because you're _boring_."

There's no point arguing with him, so I simply shrug; I've never cared that he thinks I'm boring.

Bella smiles at me, and I wait expectantly for her comment—maybe that I'm _her_ kind of boring—but she simply smiles a little wider and then goes over to Rosalie, who passes Rey into her arms without waiting to be asked.

Our daughter is still fast asleep, and still dreaming about playing with Rosalie's hair. Bella's lips curve into a sweet smile as she gazes down at Rey's serene face.

When Renesmee drifts into a period of dreamless sleep, Esme eagerly shows us the latest additions to the photo album: Rey in a finely tailored sky-blue jumpsuit playing with wooden blocks in the shape of letters. She looks utterly adorable.

We're discussing the plan for the next set of photos when Rey starts to wake. I move closer to Bella—as close as I dare—so that our daughter will see us both as soon as she opens her eyes.

Renesmee greets us with a joyful giggle and grabs Bella's hand, which was already holding one of hers, in both hands. She gazes up at her mother for several seconds before looking around for everyone else (not that she has to look far; they've already gravitated to her). Her disappointment at Jacob's absence isn't quite as fleeting as I'd like—although it would be more persistent if she didn't think of Seth's blood as an acceptable alternative.

But none of us, Seth included (for once), is game to let Rey drink his blood with Bella around. Rey is mightily unimpressed, but her frustration is so adorable that all of us struggle with keeping a straight face. Her singular preference gives the term _fussy eater_ a whole new meaning as she rejects every foodstuff we propose outright, all the while trying to convince us we're worrying about nothing. It fills me with pride that she never once thinks about her mother leaving so she can get what she wants.

Bella's thoughtfulness makes me wonder if she's considering that option herself; then she suddenly says, "What about the donated blood?"

I'd had one other alternative in mind—deer blood—before suggesting that myself, so I immediately nod. The others are all extremely apprehensive, though only Rey, Rosalie, and Carlisle openly grimace. Unlike Rey, who is merely objecting to the "boring" substitute, the others think it unnecessarily soon to expose Bella to the forbidden draught; even Seth is well aware that Jasper can't even enter the room where the blood is stored, let alone be anywhere near the blood itself.

"It'll be fine," I say, answering both perspectives, but only Rey begins to concede the point (perhaps it's time to tell everyone about Bella's run-in with the hikers). "It tastes gross anyway—to _our_ taste buds," I hastily add before Rey can agree too enthusiastically.

Rey sticks out her tongue, at first to tease, but then she has the idea of comparing our taste buds (via visual inspection), which makes us laugh and breaks the growing tension in the room.

"Drink first?" I bargain, and, when Rey agrees, I suggest to Bella that she accompanies me to the fridge.

At first, she hesitates, betraying her nerves, but then she squares her jaw, gives Rey a gentle kiss on the temple as she passes her into Rosalie's eager arms, and gestures for me to lead the way.

The lingering scent of blood taints the air in the room even without opening the fridge, so I give her a moment to measure her reaction—not the least bit surprised that she is apparently breathing no less freely—then unlatch the door and open it slowly, just wide enough for a bag to fit through, before immediately closing it.

She wrinkles her nose at the sharper scent emanating from the bag, but otherwise seems calm, so I break the seal while we're still in the room and carefully pour some of the blood into a mug.

Bella takes the tiniest breath—and then makes a face. I'm momentarily startled by the mix of what appear to be surprise and _disgust_ in her expression.

"It doesn't smell very human," she says, explaining her reaction.

As one, the other vampires in the house all gasp, while I find myself laughing. Their shock that Bella knows what human blood smells like is magnified a thousand times by their amazement that she can actually detect a difference.

Rey doesn't understand their reaction, so Seth and Rosalie (the first to recover) explain that her mummy is completely defying the usual newborn madness. She isn't remotely surprised; she knows her mother is special, too.

When we re-enter the room, Rey reaches for me, ignoring the mug of blood for the moment. Everyone else marvels at the impossible newborn standing not two feet away, though Esme and Emmett both flinch when Bella steps closer, holding out a hand for Rey, who takes it eagerly, telling her that she's special—with a distinct undertone that she is special enough to cope with Seth's fresh blood, too.

While Bella gives a little shake of the head, I direct Rey's focus to the mug. "If _you_ think this smells boring, and Mummy thinks this smells boring, don't you think she might like Seth's blood as much as you do?"

Rey _wants_ to say no—because she knows the wolves smell unpleasant to the others—but she also knows that the blood I'm holding makes them thirsty. She concedes the point with a sigh, then starts to drink.

Bella tenses as Rey tastes the blood, but after a few seconds, she starts to breathe again. "Does it smell human to you?" she asks the others, acknowledging their amazement with her typical artlessness.

"Human enough," Esme murmurs.

"Jasper can't stand it," Seth adds, figuring that's the plainest explanation.

Bella cringes and then her expression shifts through a few emotions too quickly for me to catch before settling on what I think best translates to 'confident'. "Drinking blood while I was still human must've helped me adjust to it."

Apart from Seth, who was already thinking along those lines himself, none of us agrees. Carlisle thinks the changes Rey effected to her human body are the likelier cause, while I'm not sure how any of it relates to her initially 'normal' reaction to the hikers' scent. I can't help enjoying the others' shock when I begin describing that terrifying moment, and it makes me realise that I've forgiven myself—because without my mistake, we wouldn't know how strong her self-control already is.

"The thirst scatters my concentration," Bella 'explains', "but doesn't _obliterate_ it. If I focus, I can ignore it." She grins. "Maybe self-control is my superpower!"

The others are intrigued—we certainly know of vampires with such subtle gifts—but I don't think so. Her self-control was already impressive when she was human, so her control now is simply an amplification of that (and now that I think about it, that amplification probably explains her ability to override the bloodlust as soon as she realised what she was doing).

I shake my head. "I'm sure Eleazar will find something more unique about you."

"Something that explains my mental muteness?"

Forgoing a joke (because my sense of humour still needs recalibration on this sensitive topic), I simply nod.

Again, only Seth agrees. The others think my judgement is clouded. After all, Eleazar hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary when he met her, and if my inability to hear her thoughts is the result of a special gift, why wasn't its effect enhanced by the transformation? Jasper can still feel her emotions, and Alice can still see her future, so nothing has changed there.

Bella glances at the others, who clearly share her scepticism, then gives me a wry smile. "The only extraordinary thing about me is my self-control."

I can't think of any further arguments that don't emphasise my covetousness of her thoughts—because if she _is_ correct, I'd be sorely tempted to encourage her to lose control—so I murmur, "We'll see," and then change the subject. "How about we go for a swim later?"

Rey loves the idea, as does Rosalie, who rushes upstairs to retrieve Rey's and her own swimsuits, and comes back with Bella's and Esme's, too. Bella eyes the ordinary-looking one-piece suit wistfully, like she's picturing the one I'd destroyed on our honeymoon in its place, but I certainly appreciate the high neckline, half-sleeves, and mid-cut leg lines.

Emmett and Seth pick a nearby spot along the river that's deep enough for Bella to enjoy the novelty of staying underwater indefinitely. She looks as natural spiralling through the water as she does running through the trees. When she teases me by doing a backward 'flip' around me, I tease her in return by shooting a jet of water in her direction. She laughs and gulps a mouthful of water to make a waterspout of her own. Rey takes to the water equally quickly, and she is able to hold her breath for long enough—longer than Seth—that the others start getting nervous and ask her to resurface.

When Alice and Jasper arrive mid-afternoon, Rey leaps out of the river and springs into Jasper's arms. Alice does a good job of commandeering her attention next, while Jasper apologises to Bella and assures her (with more certainty than he really feels) that not only has he come to terms with his struggles, but he also has more hope of overcoming them than ever.

Despite her suspicions, Bella's concern and guilt ease. He smiles knowingly, and she gives him a grin. "How's your dog paddle?" she says, tipping her head towards the river.

He laughs and waggles an eyebrow at Alice and Rey, who throws her hands up in encouragement, so he rips off his shirt, rocks back on one foot, then launches himself ten feet in the air, twists through three and a half corkscrews, and enters the water with barely a splash. Alice and Rey cheer, and then Rey directs Alice to throw her up into the air. After glancing at me, Alice complies, and our little prodigy copies Jasper's dive with exquisite precision.

It is the first time our whole family has been together, and I find myself pausing more and more frequently to soak up their joy.

Despite the extra physical activity—or maybe even because of it; none of us knows how her physiology works—Rey stays awake long into the night. The moment after her eyes fall shut, Bella snatches my hand and whips me across the river so fast, I can't even catch my breath to laugh.

As has become our custom, we make love before hunting; Bella is no more hurried or less attentive to my pleasure, though she must be thirstier than she's felt since opening her eyes. I've so hunted so frequently now that our skin is almost the same hue, but I was still planning to catch my own prey—until I realise the herd we've selected belongs to the rarest species in these parts. If Bella weren't so rational, I wouldn't dare ask her to stop, but she is, and she breaks off the hunt without seeming to feel any frustration. She even smiles when I explain my reason for sparing these particular creatures.

While searching for another herd, I suddenly pick out a different heartbeat nearby—there's a lion stalking our erstwhile prey. "Mountain lion, two o'clock."

Bella's eyes snap to the northeast. She listens for a split second, then nods and gestures for me to follow her.

Thanks to our swift but careful approach, the lion doesn't notice us until we're ten feet away. Bella sucks in a quick breath and her whole body tenses as the lion's strong scent ignites the burn in her throat. (Interestingly, the formerly appealing scent has no effect on me, confirming that _no_ blood appeals to me in that way now.)

"Happy hunting," I murmur, trying to turn it into a sport; I don't know whether to hope she enjoys this blood or not. If it feels like indulging the blood-crazed monster, will she feel worse afterwards?

She shivers in anticipation, eyes fixed on the doomed beast as it flattens its ears back and hisses fiercely; then it tries to flee, sprinting a few yards across the ground before launching itself into a tree. This escape path is clearly pre-planned, because the animal doesn't hesitate as it leaps from one branch to the next before galloping along a thicker branch and into the neighbouring tree, where it repeats a similar pattern.

With one swift step, Bella leaps towards the second tree, boosting herself onto a branch just below the lion, some 30 feet off the ground, and then swinging up onto its branch.

The lion lashes out in desperation at its far swifter foe. I wince instinctively, even as she veers out of the way—implying she is still fully in control, because the monster wouldn't recoil—but she doesn't avoid its next swipe as she lunges in turn. Its claws rake harmlessly across her granite skin, though they score the swimsuit, leaving three long gashes down the front.

It takes Bella less than three seconds to find her hold and snap through its spine. The beast's weight collapses onto her, its limbs going limp, and she drags its carotid artery up to her mouth and drinks greedily, draining the cat in seconds.

Not bothering to climb down the tree, she simply steps off the branch, carrying the furry body with her, and lands with a thud by my side. There is no lingering bloodlust in her eyes. She is truly incredible.

"Wow," I murmur in a pitiful attempt to express my admiration.

She laughs. "I'm sure I could've been more efficient."

"You couldn't have done it better—the first time _I_ killed a lion wasn't nearly so neat."

"I didn't want it to suffer."

"You're incredible," I murmur. "That you can even think about its welfare—about _anything_ —while you're hunting…" I don't bother to finish the point; no words can express how amazing she is.

She grins, enjoying my praise. "Lion is definitely an improvement on deer."

"More fun to catch, too?" I suggest, my eyes straying to the tattered swimsuit.

"Perhaps," she allows, "but I'd rather get my fun elsewhere—" and then she grabs my hand, sending a thrill through me, and pulls me towards the tree trunk.

It's clear she wants to climb, and I follow willingly, enjoying the suspense. Three quarters of the way up, she steps onto a flat branch and then leans back against the trunk, pulling me against her. "Make love to me," she requests—entirely unnecessarily—as she shreds my shirt so much more effectively than the lion had shredded her swimsuit.

At this height, our passions seem equally heightened. I feel simultaneously more separate and more entwined with the life force of the forest. Up here, the eternal is tangible.

And yet, our lovemaking feels all too brief when Bella eventually calls time on it. I try not to burden her with my unsated desire as we vacate the tree, and sharing the task of stripping the lion's hide helps me realign my priorities.

We both take advantage of Alice's clothing cache at the tanning barrels. As usual, Bella completes the task of dressing herself much faster than I—but as the gauzy fabric envelops her body, the effect it has on me is instantaneous. It is worse than seeing her naked, because I'd expected her to be _more_ covered up; instead, the wispy, semi-translucent material is _inconceivably_ revealing. She looks like a fairy princess—a mind-blowingly sexy fairy princess.

Even knowing it was Alice's intent—and that she'll be exceedingly smug about it—I can't control the need to pull Bella into my arms and ravish her anew. She laughs as I rip the dress apart from both ends at once, obligingly surrendering to my passion.

Because of our extended 'fun', Rey is awake when we get home; I feel guilty for a moment, but Rey's cheeriness eases the feeling, and Emmett's thoughts provide a distracting amount of irritation as he teases me for having been away "marginally" longer than normal, while teasing Bella for wearing a shirt and trousers meant for _me_.

"What'd ya hunt this time?" he asks Bella nonchalantly, hoping for something he can twist into a story about how boring we are.

"Mountain lion," she replies equally smoothly.

 _Perfect!_ , he crows, laughing. "Finally did something interesting, eh?"

"If _that's_ what you call interesting," she retorts, her tone conveying the perfect blend of disinterest and disdain to derail Emmett's teasing.

Her self-assured, unshakeable confidence is wonderful. Jasper is still utterly baffled that she has found herself so quickly—he's blinded by his long experience with newborns—but for the rest of us, there's no mistaking it: she really is a natural-born vampire.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven: Driver**

The telephone's first chime sets my teeth on edge. By the end of it, as Alice's confidence in the caller's identity cements, I can't help wishing Bella would let me whisk her outside before Esme answers. But Jasper's insight into her emotions and the dawning awareness in her eyes as she studies my face confirms that it's already too late.

I tilt my head towards the window, but she replies by turning her attention to the section of wall currently blocking her view of Esme.

Fortunately, Renesmee's hearing isn't good enough to pick out the voice on the other end from this distance—although her senses are improving minute by minute, so it won't be long—but her curiosity means that she doesn't just want to know the caller's identity, she wants to listen in. I absolutely won't put Bella in the position of having to lie to Rey, so I put down the book we were reading and say I'd like to go outside.

Rey is still curious about the phone call, but the outside world is equally interesting, so she happily accepts the trade. Bella hesitates, though; clearly, she wants to torment herself. When Rey asks what the matter is, she cringes.

Alice suggests (telepathically) that we tell her the truth—that the caller is her human grandmother, and she's frustrated because she has a small gift for Bella (in deference to Bella's "no presents" stipulation, it is simply a framed photograph) and nowhere to send it—but I want to spare Renesmee the burden of that unavoidable separation for as long as possible, so I ask Alice to find us a sunny locale. She takes the hint and eagerly snatches Rey from Bella's arms as she offers a couple of options.

Bella manages a smile when Rey suggests climbing some more trees, but hearing her mother's voice is affecting her deeply—the painful longing she feels reminds me of how I'd felt during my self-enforced exile. I desperately want to comfort her, but I feel utterly helpless. Jasper relinquishes his connection with Rey and moves around behind Bella and me, placing his hands on our nearest shoulders and using his touch to ease our discontent more swiftly. While proposing a wrestling match in the treetops, he advises me to take Bella somewhere alone.

Emmett and Rey both jump at the idea of any sort of match—to the point that Emmett actually picks Alice up and whisks her and Rey outside.

The others follow; Jasper hesitates, torn, but I signal for him to leave and he gratefully races off after Emmett, who has almost reached his target: the nearest rock in his network of 'wrestling arenas' that isn't currently being rained on (as identified by Alice). Renesmee laughs delightedly, not noticing that her parents aren't among the family throng until Emmett sets her and Alice down beside the roughly hourglass-shaped rock.

Part plaintive, part bemused, her thoughts call for us to join them, but Alice whispers to her that Mummy isn't feeling very well right now and needs a little time alone. They're all as impressed as I when she immediately blames the phone call (although I would've preferred her to have kept a more open mind to other possibilities), so now she absolutely wants an explanation—and Alice is inclined to give it to her.

However much I want to dictate their answer, my focus, as always, is Bella. Since the others left, she has done nothing but look back and forth between the door and the obscured phone. When Renée pauses to let Esme speak, Bella takes a step towards the door on a slightly skewed trajectory that also takes her closer to the phone. I move with her, casually placing myself between her and the phone. My attempt at subtlety doesn't work; she seems fully aware of my purpose, as her eyes flick from the wall to me, tightening.

"Let's hunt," I murmur, but she shakes her head—and then, as Renée laments our "seclusiveness", she becomes a statue.

Of course, I've seen it before a million times—we all do it, for various reasons—but watching Bella stand utterly motionless with eyes full of despair is honestly terrifying. My mind literally refuses to accept that this outwardly lifeless creature—part Athena, part Aphrodite, unequivocally greater than both—is my Bella. It's as though I've never seen her so completely still, and yet I have, haven't I?

Even as I work through my own distress (helped in no small part by Emmett and Rey's pretend arm-wrestling match), Renée's chirpy voice cuts through my thoughts. Thanks to Esme's careful deflection, Renée has moved on to sharing news of her own: Phil is feeling great and playing even better; she took her class on a fieldtrip to the local museum; and she has been asked to help out with creating artworks for a charity concert to raise money for children with cancer.

Renée's full life makes me happy, but I know it will never assuage Bella's guilt, and it won't stop Renée feeling abandoned if she ever realises we're avoiding her. If we can't deflect her suspicions, I dread the accusations she's bound to fling at her daughter—the worst being that she has chosen me over her, because, as much as I hate it, that _is_ the truth.

When Esme speaks, Bella relaxes ever so slightly. I raise my hand towards her cheek and she unfreezes, but it's clear her thoughts are still thousands of miles away.

"Let's go," I murmur, hoping to coax her from the house before her mother speaks again.

She stares into my eyes for several seconds, then abruptly nods. I gesture towards the door for her to lead the way, and am caught completely off guard when she catches my hand in hers before rushing outside. My fingers react instinctively, returning the hold, and I let her lead wherever she will—even if she wants to ignore the call of our bodies and go straight to Renesmee.

When she leads me across the river, away from Rey and the others, I don't realise how presumptuous I'm being until she drops my hand before coming to a halt. Her subtle standoffishness coupled with my awareness of the grief she will still be feeling just barely keeps me from closing the distance between us and tearing the dress off her body.

But my hand still tingles from her touch and I find myself stepping closer, wanting to comfort her with my touch—and my body.

She smiles at first, but the moment I raise my hand towards her face, she takes a step back and her smile switches to a frown. I stop, obeying the unspoken directive, but the rejection is like a physical blow. Even though I understand it—even though _I_ caused it—it still hurts. What's worse, though, is that my impatience has robbed her of the comfort she had been feeling in my presence. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "There's nothing else we could have done," she says, either misinterpreting my apology or saying what she wants to say regardless. "No other possible way this could have gone. If you'd stayed away, Tyler's van would have killed me, and that would've been so much worse for _everyone_. Renée would have blamed herself—"

"I don't believe that anymore," I interrupt, wanting her to see herself as I see her. "No mere van could defeat you."

She smiles a very little, then shakes her head. "I remember the dent you put in the side—I would've been squished flat."

That image brings Alice's horrifying vision to the forefront of my mind, despite my previously successful efforts to 'forget' it. She had only had a split second's view of the van's first impact on Bella's fragile body, but that had been more than enough to imagine all the bones that would shatter between it and the solid truck. It was only afterwards that Alice realised it wasn't her own horror that had short-circuited her concentration and cut off that vision—Bella's future had changed the instant I saw it.

"What did Alice see?" Bella murmurs softly, intuiting the bent of my thoughts.

"Not much," I breathe, focusing on that good fortune to keep the remembered horror out of my voice. "As soon as I saw that it was going to hit you, I nixed that version of the future—I changed your future mid-vision."

She smiles, and then her expression turns wistful, then sombre. "All those promises we made about visiting Jacksonville and watching Phil play—" she breaks off with a soft gasp. "Will his team travel to New Hampshire?"

"No; he plays in the Southern League."

She sighs, barely comforted. I wish I could make lying to Renée easier, but I can't think of anything we haven't already discussed, and there's something else I should mention—by now, Renée must have sent dozens of emails.

"Her emails—" I stop when Bella cringes; I hadn't figured out what I was going to say anyway.

"Have you read any?" she murmurs.

"No, but I can…"

She shakes her head. "I'll read them, and I'll reply, too."

We both cringe at that, anticipating the painful task. Alice's thoughts interrupt me before I can offer to operate the fragile computer, so I simply nod, then let her know that Alice is on her way with a proposal.

"Will I like it?" she asks softly, not quite hitting the joking tone I think she was aiming for.

"There's not that much to it," I reply as honestly as I dare, and then our overly exuberant sister races up behind me, dodging around me with a millimetre to spare, and comes to a stop in front of Bella, who acknowledges her theatrics with half a smile.

"Bella," she says resolutely, "here's the plan: you're going to call Renée for your birthday—" she ignores our synchronous grimaces—"and I'll help you email her tonight. Remember, you were sure we could make it work."

Bella frowns, unsatisfied, and Alice gets a brief vision of Bella sitting at my computer—in my former bedroom, which our family has been steadily renovating whenever we're out of the house—gingerly typing out an email. When I give Alice a mental nudge to see where _I_ am, she finds me downstairs, at the piano. I'd rather be at the computer with them, but she shows me Bella's gratitude when I make the offer to play, so I content myself with helping indirectly—and at least I'll be able to read the emails and Bella's reply through Alice's thoughts.

As Bella slowly endorses the plan, Alice's vision grows firm enough that I can read a few snippets of email now—Renée's enthusiastic prose about her latest fad, spices, makes me smile; she has been searching far and wide for special ingredients. _Do you know there's 2 types of cinnamon?_ , she'd written. _The outer bark has a chemical that's bad if you have more than a teaspoon a day! But the inner bark is really good for you, and you should have 1-2 tsp every day._ The next sentence kills my enjoyment. _I'll send you some once you give me your address._

The moment Bella nods, Alice changes the subject to Bella's "after" car—a red Ferrari F430. It is a somewhat contentious topic, given her indifference to the exquisite machine and our eagerness for her to get behind the wheel.

Bella listens impassively to Alice's suggestion of visiting Olympia, then says, "When Seth gets back from school."

The strategic answer leaves us nothing to work with. "You'll drive?" I ask hopefully, trying to prolong the conversation.

"I'll drive _in_ it," she counters.

That's the biggest concession we'll get today, so I accept it with a smile. "All right. I _am_ looking forward to driving it—I think you'll enjoy it, too…" I trail off when it's clear her mood is sinking back into sombre. "If you don't like it, we can always swap it for another Chevy."

She gives a soft snort of amusement, then sighs. "Renée would love it."

"How about we give her and Phil a day at a racetrack for Christmas?"

She just sighs again, so Alice (who knows she's dwelling on the complicated lies we'll have to tell, thanks to our affluence resolving most of the usual impediments people face) tries an alternative, potentially dangerous, tactic. "We could declare bankruptcy. I could arrange a stock-market crash."

Bella frowns, unamused, but _this_ displeasure, finally, is defensible. (And I'm intensely relieved that Alice didn't go with her other idea—blaming my sex addiction.)

"I don't keep track of the stock market," Alice assures her. "We've never actually invested much there—I buy and sell shares from time to time, when I need cash fast—" she waggles her eyebrows and Bella gives a little, half-grudging chuckle—"but I prefer to invest in small businesses. And art."

"And historical buildings," I add, happy for us to get sidetracked.

Alice nods once. Then she heroically gets us back on topic. "The only thing that'll buy us some time is booking a trip to Jacksonville."

"And then cancelling?" Bella murmurs. When Alice nods, her face crumples just as Alice had foreseen. "That's too cruel."

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

Bella touches her fingers to my lips—and our bodies immediately gravitate to each other.

"I'm not leaving," Alice pipes up, anticipating our request for (token) privacy.

Bella freezes in my arms. While she fights the lust, Alice sees at least three potential futures, two of which test my willpower to the absolute limit. Alice teases me by estimating the likelihood of each, but I know Bella is going to master her desire and pull away. It's no less disappointing, though, when she does. My arms remain outstretched, holding empty air.

"Bella, I thought we were best friends," Alice complains.

"So did _I_ ," Bella retorts sourly.

"All right, I'll go—see you at home." _And in lots of fun positions_ _in the meantime_ _!_ , she teases as she deposits a bag of clothes on the ground, then skips away.

Bella sighs, her eyes on the little satchel. "Has she spoiled it?"

"No! Forget her," I entreat. "Just tell me what you want."

"What do _you_ want?" she murmurs sultrily, stepping back into my arms and sliding her hands around the back of my neck, beneath my shirt.

I can barely contain the tsunami of desire that surges through me, but somehow, I hear myself saying, "Whatever you want. I'm yours."

That's all it takes; Bella shifts her weight, effortlessly pinning me to the ground, and kisses me passionately. While her hands move to divest me of my trousers, I rip her dress apart and seize her naked breasts.

For the first time, I feel like I can still think as we unite our bodies—but all I can think is that I've never felt a deeper _need_ for her than I do in this moment. I need to be as close to her—for our bodies to be as fully entwined—as it is possible to be.

That physical need so overwhelms anything else that I even forget my desire to hear her thoughts. Afterwards, though, when my body is truly as satisfied as I imagine it is possible to be, the lack almost seems worse: if I'd had her thoughts inside my head, we could have been even closer.

But I'm too familiar with this particular disappointment for it to dampen my pleasure now, especially with Bella smiling down at me.

Her eyes trace the line of my right clavicle and then she strokes along its length with an index finger. Her introspection is the only thing stopping me from reinitiating our lovemaking. "Did you do anything differently," she says, "based on Alice's vision?"

I chuckle softly. "I did say what she saw me saying before you did _that_ —but that's the answer you'll always get when you ask that question."

She smiles, then sighs. "I want to go home now, but she'll just make fun of us. She's worse than Emmett!"

I nod—because she is absolutely correct—but for some reason, she laughs.

" _You_ don't want to go home yet," she accuses teasingly.

"Part of me does…"

"That wasn't very convincing."

"I'll try harder if you kiss me?"

She acquiesces with a smirk, then indulges my passions once more before donning the clothes Alice brought for us and conveying us back to our family, who have progressed to climbing trees.

Renesmee and Emmett convince Bella to arm-wrestle with Emmett again, but the outcome is only different this time because Bella doesn't move. She holds her arm in place, grinning, as, despite everything Emmett tries—even grabbing her hand in both of his—he can't budge it at all.

Eventually, Emmett tires of failing so completely, and then he starts laughing with the rest of us as he concedes defeat. "How about a game of ultra-chess?" he suggests, hoping Bella's relative inexperience will give him the advantage there.

Rey jumps at the idea of teaching her mother how to play, so Bella agrees—and we're still playing when I start to hear Seth's mind as he gallops through the trees. The moment he arrives, Alice diverts everyone into the garage before she loses him to the kitchen, and he provides all the desired excitement and more when she unveils the Ferrari.

After pointing out several "fun" features and getting no response from Bella (besides a little smirk of amusement at Seth's enthusiastic admiration), Alice decides that it's _my_ fault. "Edward chose the car," she informs her.

To defend myself against the (mostly) subtle dig, I say, "Alice preferred the convertible version—but the top speed on that is three miles slower."

Gratifyingly, Bella laughs—and yet, the deepening pout of her mouth as she eyes the car exposes an underlying tension.

"What are you thinking?" I murmur, my impatience getting the better of me.

She hesitates briefly before saying somewhat glibly, "I'm not sure about the colour," and I'm torn between frustration at the extent to which she's editing her true thoughts and amusement, because that answer makes her lacklustre response squarely _Alice's_ fault.

Alice tells me firmly that her "excuse" would be the same whatever the colour (I'm not convinced), while considering joking that she picked red to hide any bloodstains. But she refrains from experimenting with such a touchy subject; "It's an homage to the Chevy," she says instead.

Bella snorts softly, then gestures for me to take the driver's seat.

Emmett clicks his tongue. "What are you afraid of now?" he teases.

"I'm afraid I'll snap the wheel off," she retorts, fully earnest, "or break something else—and then we'll crash!"

I understand her concern, but everyone else chuckles at her familiar, even more irrelevant concerns about having a car accident. "We could hit another car," she insists, sobering them a little.

"You don't need to worry about that," I assure her. "You don't have to drive unless you feel like it."

"I _won't_ ," she replies emphatically, and her audience is roughly split between assuming she means she'll _never_ want to drive and interpreting it as fervent confirmation. After buckling her seatbelt—which earns an even bigger laugh from Emmett—she holds out her hands for Renesmee.

Alice shakes her head. "Let Edward take you for a quick spin," she says, sounding as confident as normal, despite not having had a vision about it (at least, that's what she's telling me). "Then we'll all go for a drive when you get back."

Bella listens to Rey's conflicted thoughts for a moment—she wants to come with us, but she wants to explore the garage, too—then nods. "Rose can show you her tools, if you like," she suggests, which settles Rey's choice to stay. "We'll be back soon."

When I turn the key, the garage rings with the sound of the engine's mighty roar, and then I give it some gas and it whoops enthusiastically. The others laugh delightedly, but all I get from Bella is an eye roll.

I use all my tricks to try to engage her interest, like wheel spinning, powersliding, and pendulum turns. But even as we race along the highway at 175 miles per hour, she seems utterly ambivalent to the powerful machine. To get as much as I can out of the little time I have before she asks me to turn back, I plant my foot all the way to the floor and watch the little needle advance towards 200.

When her expression doesn't change, I quirk an eyebrow—because how can she _not_ enjoy the acceleration? Her lips twitch, acknowledging my amusement, but then her eyes gravitate back to the road in that familiar way (just a hundred times faster), flicking side to side to check that we're where we should be in the lane.

I'm about to ask—hopefully jokingly—if she is still unhappy with my driving, when she asks, "Have you really never crashed?"

" _Never_ ," I confirm, laughing because she'd asked me that _exact_ question early on in our relationship.

"What's funny?" she grumbles.

Forgoing an apology that would only irritate her further, I give her the explanation I'd chosen last time. "When I first learned to drive as a young vampire, cars were _a lot_ slower—and a lot tougher. I've never once—"

" _Never once lost control_ ," she interrupts, mimicking me in a tone heavy with arrogance. "I remember," she adds crossly, in her own voice.

I reach up automatically to stroke away her frown, but she twitches her head aside, reminding me that we shouldn't touch.

"Is that _exactly_ what you said last time?" she demands.

"You asked the same question; should I have—?"

"Of course not," she snaps. "But I want you to tell me when we've had conversations before."

"I will. I _have_. I would have now if you hadn't remembered first."

She sighs. "I'm sorry. I think the car's making me irritable."

"What's wrong with it? Please tell me you're not still unhappy with my driving."

Her lips twitch, but it's more like a smile this time. "I still don't _approve_ , but I guess I understand—although I'd much rather run." She waves a hand towards the rear of the car, presumably in reference to the noise. I'm about to speak up in defence of the elegant machine when she says, "Besides," her silky voice suddenly loaded with sexual promise that shivers through me, "I'd rather drive _you_."

I can barely hold out long enough to reach a place where the wide car will fit between the trees before slamming on the brakes and veering off the road. Bella has the door open even before I've switched off the engine, and we tumble out of the car together, shedding our clothes as we go.

Midway through our second round of lovemaking, Bella abruptly sits up, her eyes unfocused, her whole body tense. I drag a little more of my attention onto our surroundings and realise she's fixated on the sound of a car engine that is growing steadily louder.

When her grip on my shoulders tightens enough to hurt, I feel a slight tingle of unease. This is the first time she's been anywhere near a public road—let alone within ten yards of one—since her transformation. We're so close that she could effortlessly catch the car as it drives by; indeed, she could walk out onto the road and the driver would stop the second he saw her. In that first moment, maybe he'd even leap to the conclusion that he'd fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed, and an angel had come down to Earth to collect him.

"Is that—?"

"An overtuned car?" I interrupt, then nod.

She cracks a smile, appreciating my evasion of the obvious, and then takes a slow breath. There's no way she can smell the freshman college student as he sings along to Elton John's _Rocket Man_ and taps his hands on the wheel, but I have no doubt the scent of those two hikers is playing through her thoughts, setting her throat ablaze.

The driver passes us by without noticing the bright red car—primarily because he's colour-blind—and Bella immediately relaxes, even though she could still easily catch him. (Will I ever _not_ be utterly astounded by her self-control?)

She takes another breath, her eyes on mine but still not quite looking at me; then they suddenly refocus on me. "I still can't tell if that's supposed to be a sad song or a happy song."

I smile. "I think it's a bit of both."

She chuckles at that, and then reinitiates our lovemaking. Her movements now are more languid, though, and her focus seems to be our general connection, so I let her set the pace, holding my passions at bay in much the same way as I'd had to control myself when she was human. It is unexpectedly enjoyable, giving me a little extra thrill as I hold back solely for her pleasure rather than to protect her fragile human body.

She is still taking that slow pace when she suddenly twists her hips and her moans change to rapturous cries, signalling her impending climax and taking me with her. Perhaps it is my slightly greater clarity or the 'adrenaline' of the inadvertent risk we'd taken in stopping by the road, but this orgasm is the most powerful I've yet experienced. The pleasure, fuelled by Bella's exquisite moans, courses through me in wave after wave of seemingly endless bliss.

When the feeling eventually begins to subside, I fight it, slowing my thrusts, in case Bella would prefer a break, but not stopping entirely. She chuckles breathlessly and cants her hips in a wordless signal of approval.

And then the sun breaks through the clouds and lights up our heads. Bella maintains our rhythm for another few seconds before pausing, then sitting up to catch more of its rays upon her naked back. "I thought the sun's warmth would feel different," she murmurs. "I mean, _worse_ different—but it feels _better_. Why didn't you tell me?‼"

I have to laugh. "I don't remember what it felt like."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what it feels like _now_."

I wish I could experience it through her thoughts; all I can see in her eyes is my own glimmering reflection. "I never thought of it that way— _your_ warmth was the first that touched me."

She smiles and gives me a lingering kiss, but then breaks off when I cant my hips. "We should head back," she breathes against my cheek.

"We should hunt first," I reply, then I feel guilty: though my intentions are to ease Bella's thirst as much as possible before we drive to Olympia, they are not as pure as they should be. It has become something of a habit for us to make love before _and_ after hunting, so if we hunt now, I might get a little more time with my gorgeous wife afterwards.

Bella heaves a sigh, then tosses her head. "Tomorrow," she growls, and then, unexpectedly, she pulls me into a freshly passionate kiss—which quickly becomes more.

Following the whirlwind of our latest climax, I smile against her lips. "You're not thirsty now?"

"Not for _blood_ …"

As eager as I am to oblige her, I can't let her impressively swift acclimation go unpraised. "You are utterly incredible. I thought, even if everything went smoothly, it would be at least a year before we could do as the other couples in our family do—" I have to laugh at myself again for underestimating her so badly.

Her brow twists quizzically. "When you say _do as the others do_ , what do you mean?"

"Hunt together; combine hunting and sex; _trade_ hunting for sex…"

"Don't other vampires do that?"

"Only with those they trust; we are all at our most savage—and most vulnerable—when we hunt."

"Because blood is so distracting?"

I nod. "And a vampire with poor self-control is dangerous."

She winces faintly and I hope she isn't thinking of herself; before I can remind her of her almost peerless self-control, she says, "Vampires don't kill each other a lot, though, do they?"

"Not in the north."

"What's different about the north?"

"Most northern vampires are nomadic. In the south, vampires have been creating armies for centuries, trying to claim permanent hunting territories—as Jasper's scars attest. His gift made him an incredible asset long after his newborn advantages faded."

She gasps. "Jasper was part of a vampire _army_?"

"Yes; he thought about telling you months ago—Alice even caught a vision of it—but I asked him to wait. I didn't want to give you nightmares while we were in Rio."

She shudders, then nods. "I'll ask him when Renesmee's asleep." Then she frowns; I presume we're thinking the same thing—asking him while Rey's asleep will cut into our 'alone' time.

But maybe she was simply preparing to end our time right now, for she separates herself from me in the next moment and turns her attention to getting dressed. My clothes are somehow okay—just damp—but hers are too torn to repair. Luckily, Alice has filled the trunk with spare clothes for both of us, so we throw on the first items we touch and then speed home. (From Bella's expression as she got into the car, I know she was tempted to leave it behind.)

Apropos of nothing, Bella suddenly says teasingly, "What's the definition of sex addiction?"

The question heightens my desire, but I focus on the new purpose it gives me—answering her curiosity—alongside our current purpose (returning to our daughter), and manage to keep my hands on the wheel and the car on the road. "A compulsive need to perform sexual acts," I recite, picking a simple definition. "But experts disagree on whether sex can be _addictive_."

She laughs. "Is that our defence?"

"We don't _need_ a defence," I tease back; "we're still functional."

"But we _are_ worse, aren't we?" she murmurs, not teasing now.

When her eyes shift from the road to meet my gaze, in the split second before she looks away again, I almost stop caring about keeping the car in one piece. Truly, I can't imagine ever touching her without needing to make love to her then and there. "Yes," I murmur.

She sighs and the sound conveys the mix of contentment and frustration that it also inspires in me. "How will we ever… be _normal_?"

Fond memories of Bella sitting in my lap flick through my head, but each time, I have to concentrate on not thinking beyond that—to imagine shifting her to straddle me, or tearing off her clothes—but that makes me realise that that same thought progression hadn't happened after our return to Forks. My concerns about the pregnancy had overruled everything else. Only something equally important would ever achieve that again, and I can't think of anything that would qualify. "I don't know," I murmur.

Even before I turn onto the driveway, our family starts assembling outside, eager to discover if Bella's opinion of the car has improved. To tease them (and give myself something else to focus on), I drive a little more sedately, as Bella might—then I plant my foot and skid the car around the final bend, sliding to a halt an inch from Rey's outstretched hand.

Bella leaps out and whisks a giggling Rey from Jasper's arms. "I missed you!" she says, kissing her hair.

Rey returns the sentiment, waves at me as I get out, then seconds Emmett's request for Bella to share her feelings on the car.

"It's a car," Bella replies with a shrug, making everyone laugh. "I'd much rather run."

"Now you know why I hate driving slow," I quip, but she just shakes her head, rejecting the comparison.

"Which is better?" Rosalie asks me. "The Ferrari or the Vanquish?"

"Definitely the Vanquish," I reply, making Alice growl at my conclusiveness.

"Let's take the Vanquish to Olympia," Bella suggests, showing enough enthusiasm to make Alice growl a second time.

Before Jasper voices his ongoing hesitancy about Bella visiting Olympia so soon, I share our encounter with another random human. "A car went past while we were stopped on the side of the road, and Bella let it cruise on by with barely a glance."

Emmett scoffs; he knows what I'm implying. "That's not the same thing at all."

I shrug. "I would have gone for it when I was her age."

"For the _car_ ," Bella teases—but only Seth laughs (even though he knows I'm serious, something I'm not completely sure of for Bella).

He is quick to offer to drive the Ferrari, and when Bella seems open to the idea, he promises to stick to the speed limit—an inspired tactic that has her nodding even before he adds, " _I_ won't teach Rey bad habits."

I scoff but can't exactly dispute it, so I step aside to let him get into the car.

Feeling the need to 'chaperone' him, alongside her own desire to experience the Ferrari's performance, Esme asks to join him. Seth thinks it's a great idea; she can tell Sue how responsible he is.

Rey takes no time at all to decide to come with us in the Vanquish, so our four-car convoy is soon underway, with Rosalie and Emmett in the Stingray ahead of us and Alice and Jasper passengers in Carlisle's Mercedes at the rear.

Bella cuddles Rey tightly, but otherwise seems calm as we share in answering our daughter's questions on anything and everything, from the car's different gauges to the markings on the road, to why some leaves change colour, while the number of other cars on the road increases in fits and starts. Despite our lead car sticking to the speed limit, just as he'd promised, I enjoy the longer drive as much my passengers do (although I wish we'd gone somewhere less populous).

Before we reach the city, Esme suggests to Seth that he avoid the main street, but he assures her that Bella doesn't need the precaution—it's not like we're going to get out of the car—and sticks to his course.

It is overcast but not yet raining, so there are a reasonable number of people on foot—and nearly every head turns to follow the Ferrari as it cruises past.

Compared to the shiny red Ferrari and the Stingray's silver racing stripes, my black Vanquish blends into the background.

After sharing a chuckle with Rey, Bella looks at me questioningly. "Why'd you pick such a showy car for me?"

I almost answer that I'd wanted to get a black one, but the eye-catching sports car _is_ appropriate. "It's fast; it stands out, like _you_ do; and if you don't like it, you can give it to Seth."

She laughs at that last point. "Well, he _is_ loving it—but let's not tell him till he's got his licence."

"He can wait; Sue wouldn't let him have it yet anyway."

"All right," she agrees, grinning. "I'll tell him that was the plan all along—you picked it for _him_."

As a joke, I enjoy it, but I still feel the need to defend myself. "I picked it for _you_ because it's _fun_ —" Rey giggles at my emphatic tone—"and because I figured you'd avoid choosing _any_ car if we let you pick."

"I don't need a car," she confirms, then shakes her head when Rey immediately nods (she likes the Ferrari), and they play a cute little game of shaking and nodding their heads more and more emphatically until they both concede with a laugh. "When you're old enough to drive," Bella says, "we can discuss your vehicle choices."

Her phrasing reminds me of another option I'd considered for her; "I considered getting you a motorcycle."

Her smile widens seemingly unconsciously, and I wonder if she wishes I had or is simply amused by the thought of it. "Why didn't you?" she replies, implying the former, but at least her tone is curious, not disappointed, and the error will be easy to rectify.

"It didn't align with Alice's expectations," I admit, wishing that I had pushed back.

She laughs. "You mean, there weren't enough zeros on the price tag?"

"It was a tie between that and her dissatisfaction with motorcycle 'fashionwear'."

"I'm surprised she saw that as a limitation."

"Yes, it's not as though you wore the proper attire when you actually _needed_ it."

Bella sticks out her tongue at me, confirming Renesmee's suspicion that she's missing something. I don't want to explain her mother's reckless antics, so I sidestep the point by describing the high-tech suits worn by motorcycle racers, complete with automatic airbags. She doesn't fully engage in the story, though, so a cute little puppy gambolling along the sidewalk soon distracts her.

Just as I'm about to tell her that the puppy's name is Herbie, Bella suddenly lowers her window a few inches, letting in some fresh, human-scented air.

When she glances in my direction, I get the sense that she expected me to disapprove, so my smile surprises her. She studies my face for a second, then smiles, too. "Smells like rain," she jokes.

"Not for an hour at least," I joke back.

"So I can leave the window open a little longer?"

"As long as you like," I agree, wanting to show that I trust her completely.

She relaxes, appreciating the vote of confidence, and lifts her finger off the window switch.

Rey realises the significance and grins up at her mother. She can smell the humans, too, but their appeal only makes her crave Jacob's blood, not theirs.

Bella wrinkles her nose, then smiles. "Maybe he can visit tomorrow."

Rey's enthusiasm—and certainty—is so irritating, I'm tempted to offer her Seth's blood instead. But I know Bella wants her friend back, so I nod when she glances at me.

Seth cruises through downtown Olympia, then leads us down an adjacent street to start the journey back to Forks. The drive home is just as slow and uneventful, but Renesmee's constant questions keep it interesting. She falls asleep as I turn onto our driveway, and her dream-thoughts, which are mostly our faces at first, begin to replay and extend on her favourite new learnings.

Bella watches her dreams for almost a minute after we arrive before taking a deep breath. "I guess it's time to read all those emails."

Jasper dashes over, hoping to hold Renesmee, and he beams at Bella when she passes her over without hesitation. Alice kisses him on the cheek, then takes Bella's hand and pulls her out of the car. As we three follow Carlisle, Esme, and Seth inside, I offer to play the piano. Bella smiles gratefully, then listens to almost a minute of her lullaby before finally heading upstairs with Alice.

When I reach the end of the piece, my fingers play on, exploring the keys almost automatically as I compose a new melody for my newborn wife. For the first time, as I try to pay homage to Bella's new voice, I find the piano's sound wanting—not that any instrument could capture her perfection.

. . . . .

. . . . .

Author's note: Sorry this took so long! (I can't promise the next chapters will be faster, but I'll definitely keep going until this story is complete.)


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